American Chocolate
by GoofieDaisy
Summary: For as long as she can remember, Belarus' frozen heart has always been set on her beloved big brother, Russia. What happens when an incident at a World Meeting leaves her feeling betrayed and Belarus's possessive behavior is suddenly directed at the world's favorite hero instead? ...And it's all because of a simple Hershey's bar... (AmeBel) (Human and Nation names used)
1. Chapter 1

A thunderous bang sounded as a towering man rushed through the pair of double doors, slamming them shut in a discrete panic. His long pastel scarf flowed around his panting form as he struggled to hold them closed, as if awaiting some incoming outside force.

Behind the exhausted nation, the rest of the group sat idle in their places, organized around a large rectangular meeting table, still in wait for the meeting to begin. Several faces turned towards him with various expressions as he abruptly entered the room.

They had been awaiting his arrival for quite a while now.

After calling roll, Germany had noticed that a certain Russian had been missing from attendance, and Ukraine had insisted that they wait for him in order for the meeting to commence. Germany had reluctantly agreed, and as Russia finally entered the building now, he was greeted with an array of agitated glances from those who were getting increasingly tired of waiting.

Russia peered back at the other nations, still tightly holding the entrance shut with a look of sheer terror. It was very odd for them to see such a powerful nation like Russia so very… _frightened_. Well… There was at least one thing in the world that was known to put Ivan into such a state. Or, more specifically, _someone_.

Everyone's suspicions were confirmed as something clamorously crashed into the outside of the doors, causing the wood to splinter and some of the waiting nations to jump in their seats.

Suddenly, the straggled cries of a female- muffled through the dense wood- filled the room as she began scratching at the door to try and pry it open using solely her fingernails. The horrible grinding sound sent shivers down several weak-hearted nation's spines, making Italy start to cower in fear as he clung to his brother's arm. Romano only scowled in disgust, showing as much concern as someone like Romano was willing to express.

"Big brother!" The rough voice screeched like a bat, as the scratching took on a more violent nature.

"Let me in! Brother Russia! Open this door! Brotkher!" The freakish girl spat, putting even more force on the doors causing them to jerk open a crack. Despite Russia's desperate efforts to keep the growing gap closed, the shrill girl seemed to be impossibly overpowering him.

"No! Go away!" Russia yelled back urgently, an odd sense of alarm lacing his normally flat words.

"Please, Rossiya! Open this door so you can finally become one with me! Marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me!" The crazed pleads echoed through the dense air, menacingly, making everyone shiver in place.

At this point, Ivan acted like he had completely forgotten that everyone else was there, and started firing back at her; his fear making him gain an eerie, dark purple aura… Like he was starting to get angry.

Whoa, now let's think about that again. _Russia_ was actually getting _angry_. Not with his usual hidden wrath- thrown off by his innocent appearance- but actually portraying it in his body language.

Way to go. Belarus had finally succeeded in provoking the Russian instead of sending him off scurrying like a frightened little mouse. Well, this wasn't going to end well…

"Nyet." He replied, his voice taking on a steady but deep tone. It was as rigid as stone, yet so calm… _much too calm_. For some reason, the fact that he was no longer yelling, made the situation a million times scarier. He was being one hundred percent _serious_.

"I will _never_ marry you, Belarus. All you do is terrorize me. I've had enough of this. I'm done… J-Just leave me _alone_."

Then, the last part he had trouble choking out, but once it was muttered, the true volume of his words made everyone hold their breaths.

"I-I hate you."

Germany now stood; an annoyed yet mildly concerned expression playing out over his blunt features.

Although the meeting was being held in none other than New York City, the German's natural leadership abilities still tended to give him the authority required to take over the situation, and render it under control. It was as if they all had some kind of unspoken agreement, that no matter where the meeting was being held, he would still end up being the one in charge.

"Russia," He said in an unamused tone. "We have delayed the World Summit in waiting for you to arrive. Why are you late?"

Ivan only temporarily glanced back at him; much too focused on the Belarusian trying to break through the doorway to remove his attention for too long of a period. The dark aura around him seemed to fade away as rapidly as it had appeared.

Russia slowly responded in a weary tone, almost embarrassed about his younger sibling's behavior.

"I give you my greatest of apologies, Germany. But as you can see, the reason for my delay is merely laying on the other side of these doors." He said simply, grunting.

America's garbled laughter could be heard mockingly in the background. "Commie's 'fraid of his own sister!"

Britain gave the younger a look of warning, but the American just continued to giggle childishly to himself.

"Russia. Please take a seat and let your sister inside so we may begin the Meeting." Germany plainly commanded, folding his arms over his chest in agitation. He was done with these people. He didn't understand why they couldn't just have a normal, organized gathering for once in their lives.

Ivan looked back over his shoulder in a state of alarmed disbelief. He stared at Germany with a set of wide, pleading, violet eyes. Silently begging the man to be kidding.

Germany's hard expression never wavered. Not in the slightest.

For a while, it looked like no one was going to budge; it was a deadlock. Then Ukraine gingerly rose to her feet, and made her way over to her trembling little brother's side.

She placed a delicate hand on his broad shoulder, and she prompted him to release the doors, making him take a stiff, reluctant step backwards.

Very slowly, the two wooden doors eerily creaked open after his pressure was removed.

It appeared that only a frame of still darkness laid in wait behind their surface, until a girl in a flowing blue dress shuffled out into the doorframe, stepping out of the shadows like a creature of the night. The artificial light illuminated her pale complexion, like fresh morning dew. Except, a whole lot more terrifying. Like dew tainted with a dose of bitter poison.

Her long, platinum blond hair, hung freely over her face like curtains of snow. Only revealing a single eye, narrowed in a look of complete lunacy; her pupil rapidly dilating to adjust to the new lighting of the room. Everyone tried not to notice the glinting blades reflecting in the light, as she slid them back into the folds of her clothing.

Ukraine stood almost protectively between the two- like a barrier- staring each of them down until Germany's rough voice cut through the room, piercing the tense silence.

"Alright everyone, let's settle down, we have a very important meeting to begin. Please, sit if you will."

Ukraine gave Russia a kind of sympathetic glance, immediately heading to her chair just as she was ordered.

Russia and Belarus stood across from each other for a few more agonizing moments, as if sizing each other up. Russia studying her with his innocent, thoughtful frown, and Belarus staring almost blankly back at him, her lips void of expression.

But instead of the immense rage everyone would have expected her to be harboring, her face was being overcome by a new emotion. An emotion no one would have expected to be playing out on Belarus- of all peoples- face. Some might have described it as… genuine _sadness_. _Hurt_. _Betrayal_ even.

The way her facial features suddenly shifted from her dark frown into a more stoic expression- as if she sensed the other nations lingering stares- made her seem all the more emotionally unstable.

They all waited for a few more rigid minutes, until Belarus steadily neared her seat, lips pursed and shoes clicking on the newly polished floors. Russia promptly followed, taking his own seat. It remained quiet enough to hear a pin drop, until Belarus stiffly sat down as well. She seemed slightly off for some reason, but no one could quite place it.

Without any further disruptions, the meeting proceeded just as scheduled.

* * *

After several hours of pointless discussion, Germany decided it was time to call for a lunch break. As always, the meeting had turned into a dysfunctional disaster, with America suggesting some outrageous idea, Britain and France resorting to violence on one another, Switzerland threatening someone with a shotgun he had somehow managed to smuggled in (Although, no one could quite figure out how…), and Greece pleasantly napping with a cat stuck to his face.

Everyone fled the room gleefully, excited for their waiting meals. Italy chattered on about the joys of pasta, and China offered to make a platter of traditional Chinese treats for everyone to try, as they exited the double doors. Their eccentric voices and footsteps were still faintly heard as they trudged down the hallway, away from the large room.

No one noticed a particular Belarusian linger in her seat, even after the others had all left. Well, at least she _thought_ no one had noticed.

Belarus was lost in contemplation, as she was suddenly aware of footsteps nearing her from behind. She unconsciously felt herself start to reach for her blades, as if on instinct.

Out of nowhere, America came up to her right side, stopping profusely a few feet from her chair.

"Oh, hey! Um… Natalya was it?" He asked coolly with a mildly worried expression, which- she had to admit- looked quite odd on his normally playful features.

The female nation only glared coldly up at him. This made him nervously chuckle and absentmindedly run a hand through his hair in response.

"Well, uh, is something wrong? Cause ya know… Normally you would have just followed Russia out of here like his shadow or something, but you're still in here… so, uh…"

Belarus narrowed her vibrant purple eyes at the American, indirectly forcing him to trail off from his sentence. He was suddenly dangerously unsure of himself.

She was clearly upset and wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. She was just surprised that the man had even noticed her at all, let alone had the guts to willingly come over and speak with her- even after witnessing her deranged display. Although, they couldn't say that this morning's scene was completely out of the ordinary… It just seemed that today, the incident had taken on a new level of disorder.

After no response, the American continued, determined to fill the ongoing silence.

"You know, you can tell me if something's bothering you… I mean, I know we don't really know each other that well… But, uh… I'm the hero after all!" He shouted eagerly, pointing a finger up at the ceiling as if introducing imaginary stars, and placing a hand on his hip in an expression of pride for himself.

This only made the girl glower at him, even more annoyed.

Alfred seemed to sense it, (for once in his life) and his grin wavered into a nervous smile.

Why was he doing this to himself again? He had just seen her sitting there all alone and only wanted to be a nice person by seeing if she was alright and if there was anything he could do to help! Quick, he needed to think of something to say and fast, before things got too much weirder!

"Here! I have an idea!" He announced, quickly reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out a full sized Hershey's bar from seemingly nowhere.

"You want some chocolate? It always helps to cheer me up when I'm feeling down!"

He was now grinning widely like an idiot, grasping the candy in his palm like it was some kind of sacred, magical cure for all of his problems. Well, now that she thought about it, it probably _was_ …

He continued to reassuringly smile at her.

The Belarusian only stared up at him in wonder. Where had he gotten _that_ from, anyways? Did he keep a never-ending stash of junk food constantly hidden under his jacket or something? …Kind of like how she always had an assortment of knives hidden in her dress? …Although, his hobby was definitely the more wholesome of the two.

"W-where?-" She just barely began to speak- her anger reseeding if only a little- before she was cut off.

"Oh, I have plenty more where that came from! See?!" And with that, America lifted up his jacket and an ocean of candy came spilling out, causing it all to rain down onto the ground with a noisy clatter.

Belarus gaped at the floor in utter shock.

The American merrily laughed, dancing in his pile of sugary sweets as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Natalya's face tightened into an irritated frown. _Why was this man such a moron?_

Alfred noticed her scowl, and attempted to straighten himself up, beginning to tentatively retrieve his candy from off the floor.

"Can't litter now!" He sang to himself as he happily cleaned up every single last piece that had fallen. "Gotta protect the Earth!"

Belarus wanted nothing more than to face-palm so badly. They were indoors. How was the candy going to pollute the Earth from inside the meeting room?

It occurred to her how very dim Alfred could really be. She wondered how he had become such a powerful nation to begin with…

When the American finished, he looked back over to her, holding out the chocolate bar he had offered her earlier. When she made no move to take it, he placed it down gently on the table in front of her. He nodded to it, insistently.

Behind his kind outward display, America was internally cringing.

He debated whether or not to just leave the room now, before things got too much more awkward for him than they already were. But, part of him wanted to stay and be completely sure that the girl was alright. He was very protective over his friends, and he considered all nations- even Belarus- to be one of his buddies. Well, _almost_ all of them… There was a certain former Commie he wasn't so sure of…

"Hey, I guess I'll catch ya later then!" He spoke up. "But, uh, you should really come outside and eat lunch with the rest of us! It's no fun being cooped up in here all alone, right?" Alfred rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

He didn't want to admit it, but the Belarusian somewhat freaked him out. Then again, that wasn't too hard to do.

She was just _too_ quiet, and her eyes held a sort of untamable sense of _danger_ to them. The only reason he had ever come over here to speak with her in the first place, was because he had ended up staying in the meeting room a little latter than expected, picking up some of his papers- although he wasn't sure how his papers had even gotten on the floor to begin with. As he was making his way out, he had noticed the girl still sitting in her chair, all alone, with a distraught look on her face. He just wanted to be a good person and help a fellow nation out was all… Like any true hero would!

He was just now realizing that she would probably never open up to him in a billion years, so he was just wasting his time with her… This wasn't really any of his business anyways, but then again, he always ended up sticking his nose into other people's problems… Unintentionally or not.

He quickly made up his mind, as he pretended to look down at his watch as an excuse to leave.

"Well… uh, bye!" He said hurriedly after noting the time. He slightly waved a friendly hand back at her, as he exited the room hastily. He was eager to leave this unconventional situation and get himself a Big Mac before his thirty minutes of freedom were up.

* * *

Belarus listened intently as the pitter-patter of Alfred's feet left the room, his cheerful goodbye still echoing through her thoughts.

Her eyes narrowed in contemplation as she stared down, scrutinizing the Hershey's bar now laying in front of her, as if trying to taunt her.

 _What had just happened?_

Throughout the entire first half of the meeting, Natalya had just sat, totally disconnected from the conversation, pondering over what Russia had said to her. Even after all these years of trying to get him to comply with her, he had never actually gotten _angry_ with her. He had only seemed to become increasingly terrified of her. He had never told her that he _hated_ her before…

She refused to believe that this was true.

Her brother's hurtful words dug into her and embedded themselves into her broken mind like cobwebs. _"I-I hate you."_

And now, after America's little chat with her, she was starting to realize something. A thought that had never dawned on her before, all throughout her long existence, was suddenly immerging out of the clear blue of day.

 _What was so great about her brother, Russia, anyways?_

She had never thought such a sentence would come across her mind… but impossibly, it just had. Belarus had always possessed an unconditional, undying love towards her brother. To the point where she had become unhealthily obsessive and possessive over him without even realizing it. Her warped mind would never let her be able to see something as obvious as that.

Now that she thought about it, Ivan had always treated her rather poorly. Not only did he seem to want no part of her existence, but whenever she came around, he just tried to hide from her or make up an excuse to leave.

Russia didn't care about her. He had only drug her into the whole Soviet Union ordeal for his own selfish benefit. Hadn't he just stated that very morning that he _hated_ her?

What if big brother Russia didn't _deserve_ her love?

It was amazing to think that all of this sudden doubt was brought on by merely one simple interaction with an idiotic American.

By one ordinary chocolate bar.

But there was one thing about America that she couldn't quite understand. _How was he always so nice?_

Something no one had ever truly been to her. Something she rarely saw back at Russia's creaky old house. Back in that freezing wasteland, she had been starved of this kind of endearing treatment her entire life.

But, she just couldn't seem to get over America's good-natured intentions. Without even knowing her, Alfred had just come to check up on her, and despite her hostility, spared her a chocolate bar without even being asked to? Was that normal for Westerners?

You know… she kind of _liked_ this attentiveness. She _longed_ for it. She never knew what she had been missing out on before. To have someone care about her wellbeing in such a considerate way… Not being continuously kicked to the curb to suffer in solitude.

What _really_ was Russia, when compared to someone like America?

America was just purely a sweetheart. He was caring and genuine, warm and compassionate. Russia was so often cruel and fake, cold and calculating. Forever stuck in his old ways; buried in the snow never to be discovered again. While he was still trapped six feet under, America was out soaring with the stars.

Then another though hit her. _What if she could have America, instead?_

Then she would always have someone there to care for her like she so desperately desired. And since he probably wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he would most likely be pretty easy to manipulate as well.

She was also aware of the sheer _power_ hidden behind the American's goofy mannerisms. All of that intoxicating strength withheld behind his thin rimmed glasses and electric blue eyes, could be hers. _All hers._

A disturbing grin spread across Natalya's features, and just like that, it was as if she was set in place.

The rusted gears had shifted in her head, and suddenly all focus was centered on someone else.

A new target had been placed in Belarus's psychotic mind, much like that of a hazardous missile's, and it was no longer aimed at her brother, Russia.

The troubled girl reached out to touch the smooth wrappings of the chocolate bar, still occupying the table in front of her. After studying it for a brief moment, she gently unwrapped the top edge- folding the paper downwards- and took a vicious bite out of the top square. She licked the dark residue off her fingertips- grinning wildly- as her eyes suddenly widened in delight.

As she slowly arose from the table, her cheek bones bulged in a crazed expression, she creepily neared the doors like a rag doll who had just sprung to life.

She prowled out of the room- a cat on the hunt- unaware that she was inevitably making the same mistake she had originally made with her brother. But, through her thick fog of insanity, she could no longer distinguish obvious facts like those apart from the delusions inside of her head. All forms of moral judgement had been clouded over, centuries ago.

The Belarusian strode away, licking her lips, thoroughly enjoying every little last bit of her first taste of American chocolate.

She wanted _more._

Unfortunately for America, only one conclusion remained in her utterly broken mind.

Alfred F. Jones was going to become one with her, whether he liked it, or not.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Howdy folks! How's it going? =^u^= (Man, this is gonna be a long one!)**

 **Let me just start out by saying that I enjoy myself a good ol' America and Belarus fanfic, but I've noticed a trend. They always portray Alfred as the dominant one while Natalya is the one who just wants to be left alone. I just thought, "Hey! What if their roles were reversed and Belarus became the dominating one?" Thus, this work of art was born! I can't say I'll update this one regularly, though… probably just whenever I find the time… (Also, please interpret the title however you would like. -u-)**

 **I don't normally write pairings, and I kind of intended this story to be more of a comedy then a serious romance type thing… but as I kept going with it, it just kind of started to morph into something crazy… XD**

 **I can't help it! They're just too much fun together! They are just both so intense, but in different extremes. Alfred is the fluffy goof ball, while Natalya is the serious mentally disturbed one! Perfect opposites! OuO But, I mean honestly… How could anyone hate AmeBel? (Unless you like AmeViet better… But personally, I could go either way on that one. XD lol) I can't really find anything wrong with them, so I was just like, what the heck! Let's go for it! ^0^**

 **It will start out pretty one-sided, but there is really no telling what's going to happen at this point! Nothing too** _ **seriously**_ **romantic, though, I can assure you that much. (I stink at romance XP)**

 **I know, I kind of made Russia a little OOC with the whole "I HATE YOU! DX" thing, but don't freak out on me just yet, he has a good reason. ;) Let's just say it's necessary for the plot…**

 **But, anyways, please enjoy this wonderful little tale of creepy possessive Belarus and poor terrified America! XD There is definitely going to be more where this one came from! I have a lot of great things in mind for it! ;)**

 **Also, just so you know, Belarus uses a mix of Belarusian and Russian words throughout the story depending on who she's talking to.**

 **Chapter 1 Translations:** **(All credit goes to Google Translate, so I do apologize if any of them are incorrect.)**

 _ **Brotkher-**_ **Brother (Russian)**

 _ **Rossiya-**_ **Russia (Russian)**

 _ **Nyet-**_ **No (Russian)**

 **Thanks for reading! : D It would be greatly appreciated if you could tell me what you think in a review!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	2. Chapter 2

"And I am now happy to announce, that this concludes today's World Summit! Or, to put it simply for some of you, you are all dismissed."

Germany's bold voice boomed throughout the large meeting room, catching everyone's attention without even needing to yell; the volume of his casual talking voice proved to be far loud enough.

With that being said, everyone let out a sigh of relief and began urgently packing away their belongings into their designated places, eager to leave. No one wanted to be around when Britain and France started their third brawl of the day, or when Spain started another tomato fight with Romano.

The first person to clear out of the room was Germany, muttering incoherently to himself, with Italy skipping joyfully behind. Japan calmly followed, and poor Canada was almost run over by a certain Prussian attempting to flee the wild swings of Hungary's frying pan. As the female nation chased him through the double doors, a loud metallic clang sounded, and sure enough, the object had undoubtedly collided with the stubborn man's head.

But of course, these were all daily occurrences in the life of a nation. Nothing to worry about.

Back at the meeting table, America tiredly retrieved a stack of flyers he had made in order to advertise his new plan for battling global-warming to the other nations… A plan that no one had taken seriously… _again._ He sadly straightened the papers into a heavy stack, frowning to himself. As he messily packed them into his briefcase, he noticed one crumbled up on the floor a little ways away from his foot.

"Hey! Not cool, dude!" He whined, snatching it up disapprovingly. "I worked so hard to make these things for you guys! And what do you do? You throw them on the floor like trash!"

Britain stood at his own seat- located directly beside America's- packing up his own materials.

"Well, that's because they _are_ trash, git. Something with that much rubbish printed on it deserves to waste away on the ground." He replied bluntly, fed up with America's nonsense.

Then he raised his huge eyebrows and defensively countered, "And I'll have you know, I am not the barbarian who discarded your absurd paper in such a way. That would have been most ungentlemanly…"

Then his lips folded up into a content smirk as he scoffed, "I used mine as a handkerchief."

America gaped at him, but Britain just let out a patronizing laugh and continued smugly.

"Did you honestly expect us to believe that an oversized fictional character from one of your horrendous movies, was going to help save our planet from the negative effects of greenhouse gasses?"

America only narrowed his eyes- still recovering from the verbal blow- slamming his briefcase shut with a 'tsk'.

"How many times do I gotta tell you guys?! They're called superheroes, and they _are_ real!" Then he put on a proud smirk and added quietly to himself, "I would know, I am one."

Britain firmly clicked his own case together, giving the younger an annoyed stare.

"My, my. It seems you've grown even more delusional than I once imagined. If your rescue plans are as ridiculous as your strategies for dealing with global warming, then I'm afraid you won't be getting very far." He teased.

"Oh, and by the way, ' _gotta_ ' is not a word. Neither is the phrase 'got to' appropriate for usage in that particular sentence. Only if you applied the words 'have to' instead, would the sentence be considered grammatically correct. Your lack of knowledge of the English language disappoints me. I thought I had raised you better than that." Britain lightly lifted his briefcase, snobbishly turning to leave.

America puffed out his cheeks out with a frown. "Whatever, old man! I can speak however I want to! It's a free country!"

The elder only continued out the door, plainly calling back at Alfred, "Oh yes, I am very well aware of that."

America grabbed his stuff and hurried out after his old mentor. He reached the doorway just as he saw Britain nearing the building's main exit at the end of the hall.

Before Alfred had the chance to shout a smart remark after the Brit, he was abruptly slammed against one of the corridors walls, nearly having the breath knocked out of him. His head clunked forcefully against the old wallpaper as he tried to grasp what was going on.

No human would have been able to bring him down with such brute force, so there was no doubt in his mind that his attacker was indeed a nation, just like him. The person had snuck up on him so fast, he hadn't even had any time to react. For if he had been previously alerted to their presence, they would have likely been thrown out a window by now.

America- now flattened against the wall- was suddenly aware of an icy pressure, sliding up against the delicate skin of his bare neck.

He held his breath as his eyes came into focus on the being in front of him.

A familiar girl in a swirling blue maid's gown was pressed against his front; she was pinning him steadily against the wall with an impressive amount of strength. Her mystical eyes were merely inches from his own, caressed by a set of long, dark lashes, chilling him down to the bone.

For some reason- although, he knew a puny girl like her shouldn't- she shook him to his very core.

Her pure instability and exoticness was enough to send shivers running down his spine and panic rising in his chest.

He peered up at her; although he was naturally taller, she had used the leverage of his chest to prop herself up, allowing her line of sight to be raised slightly above his own. This only made her seem all the more intimidating.

Alfred was stunned into a disturbed silence at first, taking in every single last detail of the situation playing out around him. But, as long seconds passed, he found that he still couldn't will himself to speak. He only sucked in short breaths, shuttering against the cold blade still being held threateningly at his jugular. His briefcase had fallen out of his palm during his initial shock, and hit the floor with such a thud, it burst open, sending flyers littering the hall. His hands were now clenched shakily at his sides.

Right when his throat was beginning to unfreeze and he could once again formulate a proper sentence, her smooth voice silenced him.

"Hello, America." She swooned in her heavily accented voice. Her eyes narrowing, and her rosy lips folding up into a devious grin.

The young American only stared back up unbelievably at her. His set of wide blue gems glistening in complete and utter shock.

He nervously gulped at the lethal weapon caressing his fragile skin. Its mere presence was almost enough to distract him from the Belarusian all together. All of his focus was now devoted to getting the knife as far away from the lunatic girl as possible.

"B-Belarus?" He weakly choked out, narrowing his brow unsurely, "W-What are you doing?"

This only seemed to amuse her further, and she mischievously giggled down at him, completely ignoring his questions.

Unlike her, Alfred found no enjoyment in the situation at hand. It only made him increasingly uncomfortable... and as much as he didn't want to admit it, _scared._

"Amieryka," she started, "You will become one with me, dy?" Almost like it wasn't even a question. Like it was already decided.

Alfred's blue eyes enlarged even more, in genuine bewilderment. His hysterical expression only supplied Belarus with an even larger amount of twisted delight. An entertaining thought flashed through the back of her mind that he almost looked like a scared little puppy lost on the streets.

"Wha-?"

"Yes, you shall become one with me. We shall find great strength together!"

" _No-!_ Wait, what are you-?"

Her sudden look of extreme wrath halted him mid-sentence. She almost looked like she had been slapped across the face. The deadly flicker of rage prominent in her eyes, seemed to fuel violent purple flames that threatened to burn through her irises. He suddenly felt her slender fingers rise up against his chest, wrapping themselves around the very top of his tie. She threateningly pulled the boy closer.

" _Did you just say_ _ **no**_ _to me_?"

If it could have, the Belarusian's sentence would have sliced right through him. The pure unadulterated insanity there, was simply blood curdling. He was suddenly so horrified, that he could feel his heart freezing over in his chest, being overcome by the girl's infectious frostbite. The depths of her eyes were so intense; they screamed that if he defied her in any way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the morning. Which was bad, because America wasn't exactly the best about following other people's rules.

"Ah! …Um…Uhhh…" He pathetically stuttered, feeling the cold blade press ever more slightly into his soar flesh. She gripped his tie tighter, tugging him even closer to her than before.

Alfred wanted nothing more than to fling her fragile body off of his, but something was mentally forbidding him to do so.

He didn't want to risk injuring her perfectly delicate form, like a dainty white rose in the middle of a harsh winter... That, and he was still in too much shock to act rationally… Or at least, that's what he kept trying to _tell_ himself. It definitely wasn't because he…oh, I don't know… kind of _liked_ it. The pounding in his chest and the proximity of such an elegant creature was actually kind of invigorating, once you got over the whole 'completely mental' part… - _Wait! What the heck was he saying!_ No way, he _hated_ being like this!

Despite his slight unexplained attraction towards the girl, he still thought she was a complete wacko and had no inclination to 'become one' with her… or whatever that meant…

"You _will_ marry me. You _**will**_. We shall become one! Dy! We shall become powerful together! We shall crush all who stand in our way!" Her cooing voice rose in volume, with evermore morbid excitement. Then she began evilly cackling in a dark humor. Her enormous eyes, steadily nearing his own, closer and closer, bursting with madness. The only thing separating them now, were the thin glass sheets of his spectacles.

Right when America was about to let out a high pitched shriek, (which would have been very unheroic on his part) a voice unexpectedly spoke up for him.

" _Hey!_ What on Earth is going on?"

America had never been so thankful to hear the Brit's condescending voice before in his entire life.

Fortunately for him, Arthur had never completely left the building after their last discussion in the first place.

Upon noticing Alfred's awkward position and the terror igniting his former colony's eyes, the Englishmen decided that it was finally time to step in and put his foot down.

He cautiously neared the pair, unsure of what exactly was happening between the two.

"B-Belarus?" He questioned, clearly surprised. Then, after seeing the jagged knife being held at the other's neck, his tone became more demanding. "Release him at once!"

America prayed that Britain had enough sense to be gentle towards the girl, as his life kind of depended on it at this point. One wrong move by either of them, and that knife held at his throat would be sent ever closer to staining the fine carpeting a scarlet red with the color of his own blood.

America stared intensely back at Britain, pleading with him wordlessly through his vary gaze. _'Get this chick off of me!'_ His eyes seemed to scream.

"Natalya!"

Suddenly another concerned voice emerged from across the hallway. America could just barely make out Lithuania stalking up behind Britain in a worried manner. The Belarusian in front of him was still blocking most of his view, so it was kind of hard to see exactly what was going on.

At the sound of the Baltic's voice, Belarus instantly snapped her head around with an irritated scowl. Her glinting blade dropping ever so slightly; taking her grip off of America for a split second long enough for him to frantically slip away.

He fumbled backwards along the wall, concealing himself behind the Brit's back as if his very life depended on it. He used the Englishmen's smaller body as a sort of shield, much like he would have as a child. Even as he cowered behind the older man, pathetically gripping his shoulders from behind, he didn't care how stupid he looked. At the moment, he was just glad to have that knife away from his throat.

"Natalya, what are you doing?" Toris firmly questioned, his green gaze narrowing on her.

He almost sounded hurt. Hadn't he mentioned having a crush on Belarus before, back when he used to work as a housekeeper? Crap, what if Belarus's sudden interest in him had unintentionally made the man jealous or something? How was it even possible for someone as kindhearted as Toris to like a girl like… like _that_? She was completely off her rocker!

Belarus only growled at him- like a rabid beast- flipping around to search for her missing prey.

America's grip considerably tightened on Britain's shoulders as he ducked further downward, trying to hide his face from view. He was practically buried within Arthur's wild head of hair by now.

Her gaze instantly locked onto the American's position, but before she could act, Lithuania thankfully grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to focus her attention on him instead. This only earned him a nasty glare.

"Come on, Bela. We need to go. Mr. Russia's waiting for us." He explained, trying to coax her away.

The Belarusian flushed with anger at the mention of the other man's name, and attempted to wrench her arm out of Toris' grasp. Lithuania must have been used to dealing with her by now though, because it didn't last very long. The Baltic anxiously began trying to drag her away with him; just wanting to get the girl out of there before she caused any more trouble. That, and he feared that if they were any later, it might give Russia another excuse to torment him.

After one last weak attempt at breaking free, the girl impossibly gave in, allowing herself to be towed along behind the Baltic; his hand still tightly clenched around her pale wrist.

As they passed by the two English speaking countries, Lithuania spared America a sorrowful glance and a timid apology. "I'm so sorry about that, Mr. America. I don't know what came over her. She normally only acts this way around Mr. Russia…"

America didn't know what to say. He wanted to assure Lithuania that it was okay, but he couldn't find the will to do so. Maybe that was because he really thought that it _wasn't_ okay.

As Belarus was heaved past the American's shaking form, she stared at him cravingly, her crazed eyes glued to him until she was ripped out of the front doors and into the parking lot.

The awkward silence that pursued after the doors had clicked shut was filled with Alfred's ragged breaths as he tried to calm himself down.

After making sure the strange girl was gone, Britain turned back towards America with a raised eyebrow.

"What was that all about? Are you alright?" He asked, mildly concerned.

America ran a hand through his golden locks, quickly nodding.

"Y-yeah. I think I'm fine." He reached up to the front of his neck to touch the place where her knife had been, only to find a small slit in his tender skin. No more than a paper cut really. Thankfully not even deep enough to have drawn blood.

"And, I honestly have no idea." He continued, taking in a deep breath. He reached down to straighten his now rumpled tie, carefully tucking it back into his suit jacket where it belonged.

The Englishmen studied him skeptically, looking him up and down as if searching for something more. Then he sighed, giving up and lowering down onto his knees to help collect the papers now scattered across the carpeting.

"I find it hard to believe that you had no part in this whole ordeal." He said absentmindedly, setting America's brief case right side up. "I highly doubt she would have just came over and attacked you for no apparent reason."

Alfred bit his bottom lip as he recalled what the girl had said she'd wanted from him. _To marry him!? Or to 'become one with him'!? …What did that even mean!?_ Out of all the explanations he could think off, none of them were good...

I mean, he knew he was good looking… but this was just ridiculous! How bipolar was this chick? She hadn't acted like this towards him before! Man, he knew associating with her would have been a bad idea, but he never would have expected it leading up to something like this!

He kind of hoped Britain hadn't heard any of what she'd said to him earlier, because it was kind of embarrassing… But, based on the fact that he had just asked him what was going on, he didn't seem to have overheard their conversation. _Why did the lunatic want him, anyways?! He'd hardly even talked to her before! He'd thought she'd liked Russia!_

He was so lost…

 _But wait… there was something else that just wasn't quite right._

When he had first been attacked earlier, he was sure that he had felt the Belarusian exert her full amount of strength on him while she had been trying to pin him down. Somehow, she had been physically inclined enough to be able to get the better of him… But wait… had he _let_ her get the better of him?- _Oh, he didn't know!_ But that wasn't the point.

The point was this: How was Lithuania able to drag the girl away from him so easily, when even _he_ \- one of the strongest countries in the world- had trouble dealing with her? He knew for a fact that Toris wasn't _that_ strong- if he was, then he probably wouldn't still be trembling in the shadow of Russia right now.

If all of this was true, then that could only mean one thing. Belarus had _let_ herself be dragged away.

But why would she possibly do that? She had certainly been all gung-ho about having nothing standing in her way before… _Why had she suddenly allowed herself to be taken away from him so easily, when she was so close?_ He still couldn't get the girl's disturbing expression out of his thoughts from when she had been dragged away… She looked as though she had some kind of deep longing for him… Like she wasn't going to give up on him that easily.

This new realization really worried him. It definitely couldn't mean anything good.

Alfred readjusted his glasses nervously, trying not to think about it anymore.

Deciding to just keep his mouth shut, he bent over to help assist the Brit with the difficult task of repacking his suitcase, this time even more cluttered than it was before.

Arthur stood, handing Alfred back his tightly packed bag; which he had _attempted_ to reorganize himself. America took it back gratefully, and let out one last exasperated sigh.

He could practically feel Britain's hard eyes drilling into his skull, prompting the American to speak. He clearly wanted an explanation, but Alfred didn't take the bait. He stayed quiet. He wasn't quite sure how to explain what had just happened himself, anyways.

After a long moment, the Brit only shook his head in defeat. He briefly clasped a hand on the younger's shoulder in an understanding gesture before slowly beginning to make his way back towards the doors, timing it just right so that the Belarusian would no longer be present when they exited. He eyed the American with his emerald gaze, cueing for the younger to come along. Not wanting to be left alone, Alfred gladly followed, still trying to recompose himself.

As the two exited into the cool afternoon air, no one noticed the pair of dark violet eyes silently watching them from the shadows.

From around a dark corner, a tall man in a thick coat stepped out into the hallways dim lighting. He leaned lazily on a rusty metal pipe, using it almost like a cane.

Just above his scarf, a broad grin could be seen protruding from over the velvety lining.

He had witnessed _everything_. And although he had mixed feelings on the subject, he was pleased to find out that things seemed to be going right on track.

Now all he would have to do is just wait and see…

With his ominous smirk never wavering, he quickly ducked back into the shadows- without a trace- as if he had never been there in the first place.

Phase one was successfully complete.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Yasss! Now things are really getting fun! *evilly laughs* Don't worry, things should only continue to get better from this point! ^0^**

 **Oh, I'm enjoying this** _ **way**_ **too much… Hee hee…Sorry, America is just too precious when he's scared stiff. XD**

 **Oh, and by the way, who is this mysterious person at the end and what could he possibly be planning? Well, you'll just have to wait and find out! ;)**

 **Chapter 2 Translations:** **(From Google Translate…)**

 _ **Amieryka-**_ **America (Belarusian)**

 _ **Dy-**_ **Yes (Belarusian)**

 **This chapter isn't quite as long as the first one, but I should be able to make up for it in the next chapter. It's gonna be a monster! DX (Well, by my standards at least.)**

 **Thank you guys so much for all of the encouraging reviews! I love getting feedback! I'm so grateful for all of the Favorites and Follows as well! I'm really glad you guys are liking it so far! X3**

 **Anyway, until next time, thanks for reading!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	3. Chapter 3

Getting away from Lithuania had been the hardest part.

She had always found the Baltic nation to be so excruciatingly clingy at times. Currently, it didn't seem to help that she was also becoming increasingly frustrated with him over his most recent meddling behavior. She fought to restrain herself from re-fracturing his scrawny fingers once more; what she always seemed to do when he upset her -which was starting to happen more frequently than not.

That withering man had tried to tear her from America- just when he had finally begun to crack! All so they could go and meet up with _Russia!_ And then to make matters worse, when they had finally arrived back at the car- which they had decided to rent upon arriving in New York City- Russia had been nowhere to be found!

Ivan had ended up strolling out to their vehicle several minutes _after_ Toris and her had joined up with the rest of the Baltics- before she had gotten the chance to strangle Lithuania. She had to wonder, though, what could Russia have possibly been off doing at such a time? …You never really knew with him…

The only reason she had allowed herself to be taken away from her love in the first place, was because she didn't want to create too big of a scene in front of the other nations. Sure, practically attacking Alfred in the middle of the hallway had been pretty alarming to them, but how would they have reacted if she had refused to go with Lithuania at all? Things would have gone bad fast, and if the others had known America was her target, they would have never let him out of their sight again. Especially that English man… What would she have done then?

Going along with Toris had been her only option. She only needed at brief time to retaliate before she struck again.

Luckily, after their party had driven back to their crowded hotel, Natalya had been able to slip away undetected, back out into the parking garage while the others were making their way back to their rooms. When she had returned to the car, she was surprised to find it unlocked and with the keys still sitting inside the ignition… Almost like they were just sitting there, _waiting_ for her to come and use them.

It was actually kind of odd, because normally Ivan was a lot more secure with his belongings than that… but that was of minimal concern right now. She honestly hadn't thought too much about it. She was just glad that she hadn't experienced too many major obstacles so far.

Right now, she was currently tracking a certain American all the way back to what she assumed would be his home; which she soon realized was _a lot_ farther away than she had imagined.

She had been following the boy for several hours now, and she had ended up having to resort to silencing her cell phone in order to block out the dozens of worried calls and text messages from Toris. _That man was so aggravating sometimes…_

She was just crossing the border into the American state of Virginia, she noted. Natalya made sure to keep her eyes carefully trained on Alfred's red Mustang, which seemed to be speeding up even further ahead in the thick curtain of traffic. She pressed her foot harder against the gas pedal, determined not to lose sight of her target. She was much too close to fail now.

The Belarusian had been clever enough to have gotten Alfred's license plate number shortly after leaving the meeting room for her lunch break- directly after her initial conversation with the American. There was no mistaking which car was Alfred's; a miniature American flag visibly hung from a flag holder protruding proudly from the side of its roof.

She had somehow managed to find his shiny red Mustang in the hectic bustle of the New York streets following her hotel escape. She was almost surprised with the lack of resistance she was receiving in her mission, but just pinned it to pure skill on her part.

Natalya had been following Alfred ever since…

In fact, she had been tracking him for so long now, that she was starting to doubt if he'd ever stop driving. _Where was he even going? Didn't he have a place to stay back in New York?_

She was desperately in need of a gas refill and didn't know if she could keep this up for much longer. She had almost been separated from the man twice now, but her countless years of stalking experience with Ivan hadn't let her down.

Finally, after what she figured was about a six hour car ride, the American's red Mustang slowed and begun pulling into the driveway of an elegant mansion, positioned along the hills of a Virginian countryside. She figured this must have been another one of the man's houses; he probably had tons of residences throughout his infamous country, and from the looks of it, this house was one of his older properties.

Instead of following directly behind him, Natalya steadily parked her rental car a few hundred feet down the road, trying to avoid suspicion. She stopped around a block away; her car was perfectly hidden behind a small row of shaggy shrubs lining one side of the street. The front of America's house was so large and open, she could practically see everything going on. She could even still faintly make out the man's figure as he began emerging from his car.

She got out of her own vehicle- a slick black car- and neared the edge of the bushes, still intently watching his every movement. It felt good to finally be able to get up and walk around after being stuck sitting in her car for so long.

America slowly opened the driver's door- got out- and with a big stretch, quickly walked down a short gravel pathway, over some stairs and up to what appeared to be his front door. The area surrounding the back of the mansion seemed to be densely wooded, and the thick afternoon light shining down illuminated patches of his yard in a warm orange glow. Belarus figured it must have been around six-o-clock by now. They had eaten lunch fairly early, and the meeting had ended around one.

As the American unlocked his heavy wooden door, he stepped inside, shutting it briskly behind him.

After reluctantly waiting around for nearly an hour to gather her thoughts and to make sure the boy wasn't making a reappearance anytime soon, Belarus took his absence as an opportunity to inspect the home's vicinity a little bit closer.

Without looking back, she sprinted as quickly as possible along the sidewalk, ducking down behind the row of shrubs as far as she could. The female nation quietly slipped behind a fairly small tree at the very edge of the property. Seeing no further resistance, she daringly entered his front yard and darted along the tree line, crawling up behind a small wooden fence that appeared to be separating the front yard from the back.

Natalya momentarily paused to catch her breath, her back pressed firmly against the wooden planks of the short fence. She stared straight ahead, studying the numerous flowering plants filling a large percentage of his yard. All kinds of blossoms in all different styles united into one exotic variety. Kind of like _them_ … the nations of the world. All unique in their own little way, but eternally linked. They were actually quite beautiful- the flowers she meant, not the countries. Well, _some_ countries could be quite beautiful as well, she supposed…

After a couple of minutes, she eagerly turned her head to peer through a rather large crack in the fencing, deeper into the American's backyard.

At first, she didn't see anything over the luscious patches of long grass, and was about to move in closer when suddenly a very strange noise caught her attention. She peered even more intently through the rift, drawing her pupil in closer to try and locate the cause of the sound.

What she saw made her do a double take.

It appeared that there was an _enormous_ sea creature perched in the center of America's swimming pool. It had fat, blue flippers, which were splashing around playfully and it seemed to just barely be able to fit its chubby body into the tiny pond.

I-It was a… _whale?!_

She blinked furiously, pressing her long lashes ever closer to her peep hole's wooden surface. Nope, she had seen correctly… She wasn't hallucinating… There really was a live whale living in America's swimming pool.

This was confirmed when another being entered the scene.

She flinched at the sound of a screen door forcefully slamming shut, and then she saw Alfred stride into view, wearing the same goofy grin he always seemed to sport. The creature seemed to make even higher pitched cries of joy as the other approached it, as if it had been waiting for him to arrive.

"Oh, hey there, Whale Dude!" The American greeted happily. He looked kind of tired, but still overjoyed to see the animal.

" _Whhhoooo!_ " The whale squealed excitedly as the boy began to pat its fat head in a friendly gesture. In return, the whale rubbed up against him affectionately, almost like a huge blue cat.

The Belarusian couldn't help it as her jaw dropped even further. _What the?!- How did he manage to get his very own pet whale?! And aside from that, how was he able to keep the wild animal contained and healthy in a plain old swimming pool?!_

The creature continued to make loud whines down at its American companion, and weird enough, it seemed that the boy was able to somehow understand what it was saying to him.

Alfred looked wearily up at his aquatic friend. "Oh, but Whalsey! Come on, I know you want to play, but I've had a long day and it's getting late. Can't it wait 'till tomorrow?" He asked it groggily.

" _Whoo! Whooooo! Whaaaaaaaaaaa!_ " The whale seemed to moan pleadingly.

Alfred released a long sigh, looking up at it with a tired smile. "Okay, okay! Fine. You know I can't say no to you!" The American rubbed its blubbery head, fondly. "Be right back!"

He then ran off, out of Natalya's line of sight, only to come back moments later holding a bucket of some type of white playing balls and some kind of bat. The equipment looked fairly familiar, but she couldn't quite place their names…

"Alright! Just one quick game!" He shouted, causing the whale to cry out in pleasure, water joyfully blowing up out of its spout. She could practically feel the water particles as they rained down on her from the other side of the fence.

Belarus shifted awkwardly as she watched the two play some kind of weird ball game with each other. America would toss a white ball, the whale would catch it in its mouth, and moments later, it would shoot out of the creature's blow hole in a turbulent spout of water, sending it flying back towards the American. Then, before it could collide with him, the nation would swing a wooden bat, hitting the incoming object with a loud _crack_ , sending it flying out over the field.

 _Was this really happening?_ She couldn't comprehend how America was not only able to befriend every person he met, but every animal too! And not even the usual option at that! Not a cat or a dog, but a _whale!_

As she finally broke her gaze away from the peculiar sight, a pleasant smell drifted into her nostrils. She deeply inhaled the scent, trying to place it. She registered some type of baked good with a faint hint of apple. …Could it be?

She curiously peered up over the fence line- satisfied that America was still too distracted with his little ball game to notice- and spied an open window nearby. It was several feet into his backyard, just past the fence she was hunkered behind. As she looked closer, she recognized what appeared to be some type of pie placed out on its sill to cool.

The deviant spark in her eyes signified that she had an idea.

 _An entrance…_

"Well, I'm not getting that one back." She heard America distantly mutter, after hitting a ball so far out of range that he could no longer pinpoint its location among the landscapes rolling hills. He moved several yards away to look out over the wooded area beyond the house. His whale patiently looked out after him as the boy shielded his fair eyes from the blinding light of the setting sun, still attempting to find any trace of his missing ball.

Belarus noted his distracted state and decided that it was either now or never.

She bounded over the short fence in one quick leap, making a bee-line towards the open window… and hopefully, a step closer to nabbing her future husband.

* * *

America's gaze searched the horizon for any clue as to where one of his favorite baseball's had gone. He hadn't meant to hit it _that_ hard. But then again, with his insane amount of strength, it was very difficult to control. He still hadn't completely mastered how to safely handle it yet, but he was getting better.

A string of alarmed cries from 'Whale Dude' brought Alfred's attention back to reality.

He glanced back at his friend, lifting his baseball bat to rest it comfortably over his shoulder. The whale continued to splash around wildly, whining.

"What's wrong, bro? What is it?" He asked, pivoting all the way around to suspiciously inspect the rest of his carefully tended backyard. The setting sun illuminated his old flower garden, sending beautiful shades of glistening light over every leaf and petal. The blossoms gleamed in the waning light, a vibrant peach color.

His whale only continued to thrash and cry frantically. America cocked his head to the side in confusion. Why was Whalsey acting up like this? He was normally such a calm and gentle creature.

He noticed the animal seemed to be focusing most of its attention over to the kitchen window, where he had previously left a fresh baked apple pie to cool.

"Oh… I see." America said, his suspicious expression rapidly fading into a mischievous smirk. "You just wanted some apple-pie! Huh?"

He ignored the animals pleading moans, walking over to pet its wobbly flippers. "Don't worry, man! I'll give you some later! I promise! That's why I made it, after all!" He reassured his exotic friend.

The whale looked down at him with his big, glistening, beady black eyes. A small frown prominent on his chubby, whale-like face.

"Aww, it's okay, buddy! It's still cooling! I promise I'll get you a big old slice first thing tomorrow morning, kay?" Alfred smiled gently at the enormous creature to comfort it.

Letting out a long yawn, he decided it would be best to turn in for the night.

"G'night!" He breathed, giving his friend one last pat.

Then he promptly turned and walked back inside, his whale friend still frantically shaking his big blubbery head in warning.

 _That hadn't been what the whale was trying to tell him! He could care less about apple pie right now! He had been trying to warn the American of a possible threat!_

The creature continued in its sad attempt to regain the American's attention, but the man only continued to tread obliviously towards the backdoor.

It was too late. The boy had already reentered the mansion without a second glance at his whale companion.

Unknown to America, his whale knew a piece of crucial information that he didn't.

Alfred wouldn't be alone in that big house of his tonight…

* * *

The Belarusian had successfully infiltrated the American's home with ease. She had effortlessly climbed through the man's kitchen window, being careful not to disturb the cooling pie resting there. As soon as her shoes had clicked against the hard tiles of the kitchen floor, she heard the boy's whale start to make an awfully big commotion outside.

The girl cursed under her breath, breaking away from the window in order to avoid any unnecessary exposure. In her rush to leave the kitchen- which she noted was filled with freshly contaminated cooking equipment, most likely used to construct the pie- she accidently knocked over a wooden spoon that had been resting on the edge of a counter.

It fell to the floor with a soft clatter, thankfully not loud enough to be heard from the house's exterior. Still, she wasn't going to allow herself to be caught just yet, she still had some major exploring to do.

She hastily made her way out of the kitchen and into an adjoining dining room. In the center of the room was a small circular dining table with four chairs. A plaid table cloth laid draped over the table's fine wooden surface, creating a kind of country feel to the room. Although she wasn't from the west, she could only have described it as giving off a 'homey' vibe. In the center of the table sat a vase of shriveled up flowers.

Not just any flowers, but sunflowers…

 _Sunflowers._

Thoughts of Russia instantly began to plague her mind at the sight, and she couldn't help taking a few more tentative steps closer. She gingerly reached out to retrieve one, caressing its brittle petals as if in a trance. Though the flowers were basically dead- indicating Alfred probably hadn't been home to change them in a while- their vibrant yellow pigment and large center was unmistakable.

Ivan loved sunflowers. He always had. She remembered he would always tell her about how he dreamt to live in a warm place filled with sunflowers. Her eyes widened as she realized… if anywhere, that place was _here_ …

Her stomach suddenly clenched as she registered an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Now, here she was… without him…

What was wrong with her? What kind of traitor was she? Seeking out her brother's greatest rival, instead of him?

 _No._

Her expression darkened, her broken mind taking control of what little sanity she had left.

Big brother ' _hated_ ' her. He had done everything in his power to push her away. She _deserved_ better than his cruel ways. She _deserved_ to be fused over and cared for. Like an actual _person…_ She could only find that kind of treatment here, with sweet America _._

That was why she was here, right at this very moment, standing in the middle of Alfred's house. To take what she rightly deserved. And she would get it one way or another. _No one_ could stop her. Not Russia, not Lithuania, not Britain… and not even America himself, if it came down to it.

She slowly lifted the single flower in her shaking grasp, examining a wrinkled petal before suddenly enclosing it in a tight fist; crushing its delicate form into nothing more than a mangled mess of plant matter.

The girl opened her palm, void of emotion, letting the rumpled flower lifelessly drop to the floor. She directed her glare away from it, firmly stalking away, making sure to grind it into the ground with her toe as she passed.

As she slowly neared the dining room's rounded exit, she could hear the sounds of a television blasting from the next room over.

 _Who else was home? Didn't America live alone? Did he just happen to leave the TV on?_ Nervous thoughts flashed through the back of her mind before she hesitantly peeked her head around the edge of the doorway.

Her lavender eyes widened as they landed on a short grey form, slouching on the couch in the darkness. It had its head resting on a pillow as it stuffed its face with some sort of potato crisp snack. It had huge oval red eyes, and seemed to be intently focused on a television screen, which was playing some kind of weird infomercial for the newest 'high-performance' blender. Uhhg, American TV. She had almost forgotten how completely pointless it was…

Her brow scrunched up into a muddled scowl, as she tried to figure out just what _'it'_ was.

It obviously wasn't human… It was almost as if it had come from outer-space …which honestly wouldn't have surprised her if it had. If America could become best friends with a whale, then why not an alien?

She lifted a hand to her chin in contemplation. _What now?_ This was a bit of a complicated situation she hadn't anticipated… Well, what better way to solve the problem than to tackle it head on?

 _This 'creature' was standing in her way._

Her eyes narrowed.

With a new motivation flowing through her veins, she pushed her doubts aside.

The Belarusian swiftly sprang into action, drawing a sharp blade out of the ruffles of her gown, and silently following a strip of wall to the backside of the sofa. The rooms pitch darkness acted as a cloak for her sneaking form.

 _ **No one**_ _would stand in between her, and_ _ **her**_ _America._ _ **No one.**_

The poor alien was so infatuated with the strange Earthling commercial being played on the screen, that he never had time to witness the vicious blur approach him from behind.

By the time he had finally registered the unwanted presence, it was much too late.

* * *

America slid his sliding-glass door shut, humming pleasantly to himself, before stepping into his cluttered kitchen.

He propped his trusty base-ball bat up over his arm, tapping it lightly on his shoulder out of old habit.

Rays of waning afternoon light flooded through his open window, enlightening his surroundings. At the moment, they were slightly messy from the construction of his apple pie earlier. But, it was so worth it.

As soon as he had gotten home, he had been absolutely starvingfrom the excruciatingly long car ride, so he had decided to make one of his all-time favorite American recipes! Good old apple-pie! He had been so excited, he had begun making it right away in hopes of being able to enjoy a juicy slice tonight, if possible.

But now as he poked at it, it was still surprisingly hot, and with the extreme amount of junk food he had consumed upon walking through the door, he actually wasn't all that hungry. It still looked pretty good though.

As he studied the pie's delectable crust and glistening apple filling, leaking out over the crisscrossing layers of dough, he noticed something odd.

There appeared to be dirt clods staining the clean white surface of his window sill. Now that he looked closer at them, they almost seemed to take the shape of a footprint. _Had someone climbed through his window?_

Trying to dismiss the disturbing thought, Alfred removed the pie from the sill, slowly clicking the window pane shut, and setting the food item out on the counter to sit.

A sudden unexplainable feeling of dread washed over him, and he suddenly felt as though there was another presence among him. Trying to remain calm, he gradually readied his baseball bat, steadying it in front of him in a defensive position- still facing the window.

His eyes drifted downward to a misplaced spoon on the tile flooring below him. He steadily squatted onto one knee to examine it. _Had he dropped it earlier?_ He couldn't recall the memory, but then again, he did a lot of clumsy things he couldn't remember. Let's just say, his house wasn't exactly the cleanest in the world…

But still… He couldn't be sure…

An abrupt feeling of unease pierced his chest, and a cold sweat started to soak the back of his neck; his damp hairs nervously standing on end. He gulped and willed himself to turn around, afraid of what he might find.

His grip on the bat tightened until his knuckles started to turn a ghostly shade of white, and he jumped up, all at once- spinning around- prepared to strike.

To his greatest relief, no one was there.

He immediately calmed a little, releasing a heavy sigh and swiping at the sweat collecting on his brow.

A small laugh escaped him as he lightly lowered his weapon.

"Hahaha! Oh, man. I really know how to freak myself out sometimes…" He murmured to himself tiredly.

He looked around once more in order to convince himself that he was just tired, that there was no one in his house. Just him and Tony, like always. Yeah, _Tony!_ Maybe he was the one who had tracked the mud in through the window… Maybe he had been the one to drop the spoon as well!

Drowsy with relief, the American gave into his lazy demeanor and decided that he would just clean up the mess in the morning.

He gently placed his bat next to the backdoor, propping in up against the wall as he always did, and sluggishly wandered into the darkened living room, solely lit by the flashing colors of a flat screen TV.

Without even a glance, he greeted his alien companion. "Yo, Tony! Whatcha up to man? You didn't happen to-…"

He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes flashing open. "Tony?" He glanced over at the couch to find nothing more than a half empty bowl of potato chips and a wrinkled blanket.

"Tony?!" He called once again, this time panicked.

Still slightly shaky from the whole kitchen ordeal, he found the light switch and quickly flicked it on.

He rapidly scanned the room, finding no sign of the tiny alien.

 _Where could he possibly be?_

The American promptly searched the rest of his house for his friend, although he highly doubted the alien would be anywhere other than his treasured sofa. One of his favorite TV shows was on too, Tony would never want to miss it…

To Alfred's worsening dread, after checking every single room, the alien was nowhere to be found…

But that didn't make any sense! He had just been there a couple minutes ago! He distinctly remembered greeting him and telling him about how the meeting had went. Tony was always hungry for juicy gossip on the other nations. Of course, when America had responded to him today, he had made sure to leave out the small bit about being jumped by Belarus in the hallway. Tony didn't need to know about that. It made him sound so weak and defenseless… being so intimidated by some scrawny girl… Tony would probably make fun of him…

But where had the guy gone?

America scratched his head, trying to come up with as many rational explanations as possible.

Maybe he had gone back to his home planet for a visit? …No, he would have told him about it first… It was very seldom that Tony just left without warning… But he couldn't say the alien hadn't ditched him before…

 _Eh, maybe he just went out partying with a bunch of his alien buddies again…_

America finally let out an overdue yawn, accepting his most recent conclusion. Tony would be fine, he always was… He was too drowsy to worry about all that right now. He just wanted to go to bed.

America turned the lights back off, clicked off the television, and grudgingly made his way upstairs to the second floor where his master bedroom lay in wait.

It had been such a long day… So many countless hours of bickering at the meeting, followed by endless hours of driving afterwards. He was done in. Any other night he would have stayed up until the early hours of the morning playing video games or doing paperwork, but tonight he was going straight to bed.

He quickly slipped into a white tank top and comfy pair of sweat pants- which served as his pajamas- and collapsed into the cozy sheets of his king sized bed, breathing in the silky smell of clean linin.

The sun had now completely set, and darkness was quickly consuming the mansion. As soon as he closed his weary eyes, the welcoming hands of sleep begun to drag him under.

Little did he know, startling violet orbs glowed from between the slightest crack in the closet door. The piercing white grin protruding from the darkness was so exuberant, it glowed eerily in the moonlight… It lay patiently waiting and watching as the boy's chest rhythmically rose and fell.

 _Yes… Sleep, my dear America. Sleep..._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Dude, these chapters are starting to get pretty long! This one alone was over 5,000 words! 0_0**

 **Anyway, I tried to be as canonly accurate as possible with describing America's car and house. The creator stated that his car would be the most recent Mustang, and I tried to base his mansion off the one shown in the 'America's Storage Room Cleaning' episode. As for it being located in Virginia, I'm not really sure if that's a thing or not… but in my head canon it is!**

 **Man, Bela is certainly turning into quite the creepy stalker… hiding in people's closets… XD Oh, America… You have no idea what I have in store for you…**

 **And poor Tony, who knows what kind of crazy sadistic thing she did to him… "^.^**

 **Is there anyone feeling that Russia has a part in all of this? I mean, leaving your keys in the car with the door unlocked is a hard mistake to make… you're practically just begging to have it stolen.**

 **I also made Belarus a little unfamiliar with American/Western culture, since she's a foreigner and all.**

 **No translations for this one! Natalya didn't do much talking as it was… Actually, I don't think she spoke in this entire chapter at all… o.o Hmm…**

 **Sorry if this chapter was kind of boring, but please bear with me, I had a lot of explaining and describing to do; it was more of a transition you could say.**

 **Well, stay tuned for more updates! And for those of you who are actually following this whole thing, you guys are amazing! I give you all my greatest thanks!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	4. Chapter 4

He wasn't sure what had aroused him from his deep slumber. Maybe it was the steady stream of light beginning to leak through his window, or possibly it was the sound of a bird chirping its morning tune somewhere off in the distance.

But as he became further aware of his surroundings, Alfred began to wish that he had been awoken to something as pleasant as that… because today, the birds songs were replaced by an eerily silence.

He couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in his chest that something was horribly wrong.

Rubbing his eyes in an ill humor, he blindly felt around on his bedside table for Texas. Feeling his fingers finally close around their frame, he retrieved them, slowly sliding them onto the bridge of his nose. With his vision restored, he glanced over at the alarm clock.

' _8:53 A.M.'_ The red numbers glowed.

He sighed, letting his shaggy head sink back down, deeper into the pillow. He had been hoping to get more sleep than that. For the past few nights, he had just barley been able to get a couple hours of rest to sustain himself -with preparation for that big meeting and all. Now that it was finally over, he was really hoping that he could just try and relax.

However, the feeling of unease settling in his gut made any thoughts of relaxation impossible.

Suddenly, looking just past the rims of his glasses, he registered the dark shape of a looming form.

Panicked, America jolted upright, his covers nearly being thrown off in the process. His gaze locked onto the cause of the disturbance.

A figured covered in shadow lurked at the very foot of his bed. Messy locks of long hair covered the entirety of their face- making them impossible to identify. Their girlish figure cascaded down into the ruffles of a draping gown, and a single ray of sunlight illuminated their skin in an unnatural, iridescent white.

America gasped in horror, quickly yanking his feet away from the edge of the bed -away from the figure. He frantically grabbed at his bedding until he found the edge of his covers and pulled them protectively up around him.

His wide sapphires feverishly studied the being- looking them up and down- trying to formulate what this intruder was doing in his house.

As he continued to take in its ghostly pale glow, his frightened mind went out on a limb to make the wildest accusation he could think of.

 _A-a g-ghost!?_

 _Oh goodness…_ His worst fears were coming true. There was a _ghost_ in his house. More importantly, _in his bedroom!_ This had to be a nightmare… It was like a scene out of one of his horror movies!

 _But only this time, it was real…_

As he started hyperventilating, his mind went into overdrive, rapidly searching for a way to defend himself. _Surly the spirit wasn't here on peaceful terms…_

This was the reason why he was so deathly afraid of ghosts! You couldn't hurt them! You couldn't kill them because they were already dead!

Still, he had to at least _try_ to protect himself. He wasn't going down without a fight!

A lightbulb finally flashed in his brain, giving him a spark of hope. _He remembered! The pistols!_

Keeping an eye glued to the looming figure, he clumsily felt around underneath his pillow for the set of twin pistols he always kept hidden there, just in case of an emergency like this one.

As his fingers eagerly searched, the only thing he could feel was the smooth fabric of his bedding. Finding nothing more than a handful of crumpled blankets, his blood ran cold.

 _They were gone._

In his haze of panic, he registered movement from across the bedroom and snapped his attention back up to the lurking figure.

The boy watched in shocked disbelief as the ghostly being impossibly raised up its hands, revealing his pair of missing pistols- one grasped delicately in each hand. It held them out to its sides for a moment before lamely dropping them to the floor, far out of Alfred's reach. They hit the ground with a loud clank, tumbling even farther away from the bed.

America cringed in horror and a sickening feeling began spreading over him.

 _How had he let the ghoul outmatch him so quickly?!_ _Apparently ghosts were getting a lot smarter these days…_

Then his stomach clenched as he realized just how close the ghost must have gotten to his sleeping form in order for it to have retrieved the guns from underneath his pillow in the first place. Much _too close._

 _What if the thing had touched him!?_

Alfred shuttered uncontrollably, trembling from the volume of such a disturbing thought. _What was it gonna do to him, anyways?!_ _What did it want from him?!_ _He hadn't done anything!_ He let out a small whimper as he hurriedly tugged the sheets up over his head, curling up into a protective ball beneath them.

Maybe it would go away if it thought he wasn't there!

America continued to huddle under the safety of his covers for several more minutes, merely a shaking lump. He desperately tried to gather the spite to peer back out, desperately wanting to see if the creature was still there or not- but all he could manage to do was hug his knees together, grip his sheets, and quietly whimper to himself.

 _Why was he being such a wimp!?_ _He was the hero! He was better than this!_

Mustering all of his courage, he very slowly began to lower the blankets. Stopping just below his eyes, he peeked out over the cover's edge, terrified of what he'd find.

To his worsening terror, the 'ghost' was still there. Only this time, it was _much_ closer. It had stalked right up to his bedside, standing within a few feet of him.

Startled, America let out a small yelp, jumping backwards against the bedframe.

But, now that the creature had emerged from the shadows and he could see them better, he realized that _it_ wasn't a ghost at all… Oh no… It was something _much_ worse…

As he locked eyes with her, he felt his heart seize, being overcome by the girl's frigid frostbite as it always seemed to do in the wake of her presence.

He tried to hide his alarm, but his trembling voice betrayed him. "Bela-Belarus?"

The female nation only tilted her head to the side with a much too friendly smile. Her violet gaze brightening at the way his cowlick cutely flopped to the side.

"W-What are you doing here?" The American continued, his fear mixing with confusion. "How did you get inside?"

Then his eyes widened in realization. _The window._ There had been an intruder after all.

At this new revelation, a swarm of new questions sprung to mind.

 _How did she find his house? Had she followed him? Was she stalking him?_ And most importantly _,_ _What was she going to do to him?_

He had to be careful now. There was a dangerous psychopath in his house. He needed to act wisely if he wanted to live. He had to handle this situation in a calm and mature manner; like an adult!

And by that, what he really meant was, _RUN FOR HIS LIFE!_

Not waiting to see what the Belarusian would do, he did a combat roll across the covers- as quick as lightening- flipping onto the opposite side of the bed. He landed unsteadily on his bare feet, his eyes narrowing in concern.

The Belarusian stared at him from across the bed, her eyes flashing in amusement.

"It is okay, Amieryka." She cooed. "You seem quite well rested, dy? You did have a very peaceful sleep, after all. I've been waiting for you to awaken."

Then she pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from somewhere behind her back.

"Look," She said, a morbid excitement lacing her words. She retrieved a pen and held the items out towards the American. "We can finally become one now." She insisted eagerly.

Alfred squinted from across the bed, attempting to read the strange sheet. From what he could make out, it said something about a 'Marriage Registration Form'.

 _Aw, crap… Not this again!_

He bit his lip in panic, frantically looking around for an escape route.

 _Why did this chick want to marry him so badly anyways!? They just met! This wasn't right! This was completely insane! How did Russia ever handle this chick?!_ He suddenly felt a new sympathy for the Russian welling up in his chest _._

Unexpectedly, the Belarusian girl suddenly began to inch her way up onto the edge of the bed, paper and pen still in hand. Her huge Cheshire Cat grin was growing larger and larger by the second. Without speaking another word, she wildly scurried across the bare sheets, ferociously grabbing out at him.

He let out a straggled cry as he swiftly maneuvered past her- desperate hands missing him by mere inches. He bolted around the bedframe, fleeing to the doorway on the other side of the room. As he passed the dresser, he was sure to snag his cell phone before sprinting through the open door.

With the freakish girl hot on his tail, he grabbed the door knob and slammed the door shut behind him in a sad attempt to slow her down. He wasted no time as he flew down the hallway in search of a retreat... or maybe for some kind of weapon to wield. He saw an open door at the end of the hall… The bathroom…One of the few rooms in his house to have a lock on them… and not to mention, the closest…

He mentally debated whether that would really be the best option or not, but his debate was quickly ended as he heard the bedroom door crashing open from somewhere behind him.

Without further thought, he rushed down the corridor and into the bathroom, skidding to a stop on his heels. Just as Natalya darted up to the entrance- showing one of her creepiest smirks _yet_ \- he forcefully slammed the door closed between them, flipping the lock just in time for the knob to begin wildly jiggling from the other side.

He watched in alarm as Belarus furiously banged on the door with her fists, the door shaking with each heavy blow. She was now screaming and cursing at him in some exotic language that sounded similar to Russian; he figured it must have been Belarusian.

The fact that he didn't understand a word of what she was saying only made the situation all the more unnerving.

Determined to keep the barrier closed, the boy slid down the back of the doorway in fatigue. He lowered himself into a sitting position, panting. He looked down at the cell phone in his hands and frantically began dialing the first number he could think off. He only hoped Britain would still be in his country, then maybe- as embarrassing as it was- he would come to his rescue!

There was _no way_ he was going back outside with Natalya out there! Who knew what kind of weapons she had with her or what she would do to him?!

He hurriedly held the device up to his ear, the dial tone ringing several times before a familiar voice answered.

"America, I'm kind of busy right now. What do you want?" He hadn't even spoken a word yet and the Englishmen's tone was already irritated. Maybe this hadn't been the best person to call after all…

America paused, trying to speak as calmly as possible. Which was kind of difficult with the door still shaking violently at his back and the steady stream of foreign threats still pounding against his ears.

"Uhh, Arthur… S-Sorry… I, umm… I'm in a bit of a situation." The boy choked out.

"As in?" Arthur questioned, unamused.

The American licked his lips nervously, trying to find a way to properly explain his predicament to the older nation. He paused. Nope, it was going to sound stupid no matter how it came out.

"Alfred, what have you done this time?" The man asked accusingly, before he could speak.

Alfred's brow narrowed in frustration. "Hey! Why do you always automatically go and blame me?!" He was already starting to lose his cool. " _I_ didn't do anything! J-Just… where are you right now?" He asked quickly, without missing a beat.

"Back home, in London. I arrived several hours ago, why do you ask?"

The boy's heart sank. _Arthur couldn't help him._

 _How was he supposed to get out of here now?!_

He involuntarily flinched as a loud thud forcefully slammed into the door behind him, the intense blow echoing throughout the tiny room's interior.

"What is that all that blasted noise in the background?" Britain inquired, starting to sound concerned.

At the sudden alarm in his former mentor's voice, America's composure was rapidly deteriorating and he was starting to lose ahold of himself.

Starting to panic, America stole a glance from behind him to see a small crevice starting to form through the doors fractured wood. _What was she even using to get in with?!_

"Come on, spit it out, lad!"

With a new fear bubbling up inside of him, Alfred had to discipline himself not to hysterically scream into the phone.

" _BELARUS IS IN MY HOUSE AND NOW I'M TRAPPED IN THE BATHROOM!"_ He whisper-shrieked through a set of clenched teeth.

There was a long pause. The only thing he could hear in the phone were the echoes of his ragged breaths.

Just when the American had thought that the elder had hung up on him, the Brit hesitantly spoke up from the other end. "P-pardon me?"

America pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to steady himself. As evenly as possible, he replied, "I think Natalya is stalking me! She showed up at my house and chased me into the bathroom! Now she won't leave me alone!" Then he added a little more urgently, " _She's trying to break through the door!"_

At that, Britain raised an eyebrow. "How did she manage to get into your bloody house? And what does she want with you?" He asked bewildered, remembering the strange encounter he had witnessed between the two in the hallway the day before. He had still never gotten a proper explanation for that…

America's unspoken words caught in his throat. _Should he really tell him?_

Suddenly, an odd beeping sound from Britain's end of the line caught his attention, startling him for a moment.

"Oh, I seem to have another caller…" The older man stated.

America was about to beg him not to go and to please stay on the line with him, but then suddenly a third voice entered their conversation.

"Bonjour, Angleterre! I was wondering if you would like to come over and join me tonight for a fine-"

"Shut up, Frog!" The Brit screeched. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something right now?!"

"Eh?" The Frenchman made a noise of confusion.

"France?" America finally piped up.

"Ah, Amérique! What a pleasure it is to speak with you again! How are you?"

"Well, uh… currently, I'm kind of locked in a bathroom…"

"Oh… um… What's the occasion?" Francis mused playfully.

America sighed heavily, upset at the fact that he would have to explain his embarrassing situation to yet _another_ person.

"You see… a girl chased me in here…" Probably not the best way to put it.

France released a loud, airy laugh. "Ohononon! I see mon ami! I too have women just throwing themselves at me! But of course, who could blame them with faces as gorgeous as ours?"

"Uh, be quiet you self-righteous dolt! That's not what-"

"Oh! But mon cher Angleterre wouldn't know, would he? Not with those eyebrows of his…"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Alfred had to stifle a laugh. He could practically feel Arthur's scowl radiating through the speaker. He really liked France sometimes…

"BLOODY _WANKER!_ I'll have you know, having a _brain- something you clearly lack-_ is much more important than the looks of ones exterior!"

"Ohnononon, don't be jealous, Arthur!" Francis taunted.

"Jealous?! _I would never-_ "

" _GUYS!_ " America interrupted impatiently. He was really starting to grow tired of listening to their incessant bickering. I mean, it could be funny at times, but he really didn't have time for it right now! Every second he wasted, Belarus was getting closer and closer to knocking the door down!

" _Stop! This is serious!_ She has me cornered in here and she's about the break down the door!"

"Alfred, calm down!" Arthur commanded in a serious tone. "What does she want from you? You have to know why she's doing this… Right? …What are you hiding from us?"

Alfred clenched his jaw, biting his the inside of his cheeks. He suddenly sighed with a shake of his head.

"Fine." He said, defeated. "S-she… wants me to… uh… she wants me to marry her…" He stuttered almost inaudibly.

Britain was shocked into silence, and France almost started to deviously chuckle with his signature laugh until he realized just _who_ Alfred was talking about.

"Belarus? You mean Russia's mentally disturbed sister? She wants to marry _you_?" The Frenchman questioned, clearly in a state of dismay.

"YES!" America nearly shouted, "What am I going to do?!"

" _Marry her?"_ Britain echoed in disbelief. Out of all the scenarios he had come up with, that obviously hadn't been one of them.

"Or 'become one' with her… or whatever…" America whispered sheepishly.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Britain asked, growing irritated.

"I-I don't know… I just…" He trailed off.

"Alfred," The Englishmen started, "Why does she want to marry _you_ of all people?-And don't give me that 'because I'm the hero' garbage!"

" _I don't know!"_ The boy squeaked defensively.

"Do you care to tell me what _exactly_ happened at that meeting yesterday? What did you do to suddenly make this girl so interested in you?" He prodded harshly with that undeniable sense of parental authority he always seemed to have.

"Uhh…" America breathed, his walls weakening. "You remember what happened... when Russia was late? Well, later during lunch, I found Natalya sitting in the meeting room all alone. So, you know… I went to go talk to her-But I didn't do anything! I swear! All I did was give her a chocolate bar and-"

"Well, there's your first mistake, you idiot!" The Brit exclaimed.

"Oui, Amérique." France agreed, suddenly joining in. Alfred had almost forgotten he'd been on the line.

"You don't just give a female chocolate without sending out an invitation of _love~_ " He swooned romantically.

"What?-" Alfred spat, "That's stupid! It's just _chocolate_! That doesn't mean anything-"

"-Maybe not to you, Alfred, but to your dear lady friend, it could have been viewed as a declaration of _amour_!"

" _What?!_ No! I don't even know her! I-I can't _marry_ _her_! I don't even like-"

America was jolted out of his conversation as an object was forcibly stabbed through the door, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. Small chips flew through the air, covering Alfred's shoulders. Steadily lowering the phone, he slowly turned his head to face the end of a jagged blade protruding from the wooden surface, merely inches away from piercing his skull.

Alfred gasped, pushing off from the door in alarm as another knife gouged into the spot directly where his head had been.

With his mouth agape, the American stumbled backwards onto the Bathroom's opposite wall, pressing against the cool tiles in an attempt to get as far away from the mangled door as possible. The second knife was suddenly removed from the wood and he could see Natalya's rabid lavender eye fill its place, peeking through the rugged hole at him. She released a demonic laugh which send cold shivers down his spine.

Seeking some kind of shelter, he leapt into the bath tub, hectically trying to pull the shower curtain shut to conceal himself. He knew it wouldn't be able to protect him for long, but at least he didn't have to sit and watch her dismantle the door any longer. He crouched in the tub, listening to his poor door as it was absolutely demolished.

Frantically, he picked up the phone again to hear Britain and France worriedly shouting at him.

"America!" Britain demanded, gaining concern at the boy's sudden absence, "What _was_ that?"

"Amérique? Are you alright?" France urged in the background- most of his voice being drowned out by the hysterical Englishmen's.

"Yea-", America barely had time to respond. He was about speak when a sickening grinding sound caught his attention.

Alfred's sapphires lit up with utter fear at the sound of his first line of defense falling off its hinges. The bathroom door collapsed inward with a deafening boom. Alfred trembled behind the shower curtain, too scared to take a breath. He completely ignored the two Europeans yelling in his ear, not daring to respond, and tried to pretend he wasn't there. He had a false hope that maybe- just possibly- she wouldn't be able to find him.

All of a sudden, the sound of distinct footsteps padded over the fallen door, and stopped abruptly in the middle of the dimmed bathroom. America clutched his cell so tightly, he thought the screen might shatter. He squeezed his eyes shut as the sounds of Belarus' heavy breathing echoed eerily against the room's tile walls.

After an unbearable moment of silence, Alfred pried a hopeful eye open, staring hard at the darkened curtain separating them. _Maybe she would leave?_

America had just barely brought the phone back up to his ear- when without warning, a ruthless force ripped through the shower curtain's plastic lining like it was nothing but paper. Alfred was recklessly pummeled into the tub's metal base, his cell phone falling from his grasp and clanging into its bottom. No doubt the unpleasant noise had both Britain and France cringing from their ends of the line. Alfred's own ears were ringing from the sound, as his head was smashed into the tub's hollow metal surface.

He struggled to breathe as a heavy form settled comfortably on top of him, gouging their knees deep into his sides, straddling him.

His glasses were knocked askew, and he squinted up at the demolished shower curtain hanging from above, when the shape of a head appeared.

As the girl's face lowered closer over him, two long strands of tangled hair brushed up against his cheeks. The boy tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but that only caused the other to dig her pointed knees deeper into him, making him cringe and slip back down in pain. He gasped as the pressure of a sharp blade pressed up against the side of his face, her ghostly fingers holding it steadily against his flushed skin.

The girl's other hand shot out behind the boy's head, immediately locating his cell phone and tauntingly picking it up to dangle over him.

"Your foolish friends cannot help you now." She sang with an ominous grin, although it sounded more like a scratchy growl coming from her mouth. She let out a dangerous chuckle before abruptly crushing the device between her fingers- sending electrical sparks flying.

"M-my phone!" Alfred yelped.

She playfully dropped its useless skeleton into the bottom of the tub, disposing of it. It landed right next to Alfred's ear, the loud clang of impact making him flinch.

He tried to scowl at her, but the way she pressed the knife further into his cheek bone only made his lips writher in unease.

He tried to move his hands, but they were trapped beneath the girl's body. He could have used his super strength and sent her flying through the wall, but _why wasn't he!?_ What was wrong with him?! Why did she intimidate him so much? To the point where he didn't even _want_ to fight back!?

"So," Natalya mused, leaning lowly over him. "Have you decided yet?" She asked slyly.

"Uh, d-decided what?" He whimpered, sky blue eyes nervously studying her icy blade.

The girl snapped with sudden anger.

" _To marry me!_ " She seethed impatiently.

She quickly reached behind her to take out an all too familiar sheet of paper, her anger rapidly dissipated as she began to psychotically laugh.

Yep. This chick was definitely bipolar, if not mentally unstable.

Her body shook with laughter and she reared her head up to the ceiling to cackled. The noise abruptly came to a stop as she snapped her head back down to eye him, shoving the battered paper into his face; one of its corners nearly poking him in the eye. He shifted uncomfortably under her, causing her legs to dig further into his back. Her weight was making it difficult for him to breath, and the anxiety seizing his lungs was only making the task even harder. He started to panic, not wanting to be suffocated.

He began to wildly thrash in an attempt to free himself, but as he jerked his head upwards, he only managed to bang his forehead straight into the tub's metal faucet. As his head plopped back down into the tub's base, dizzying stars momentarily filled his vision. He grimaced, releasing a painful moan. _Since when did that darn thing get there?! Oh, dang, he felt like he had a concussion…_

She only smiled down at him in sick amusement as he suddenly became limp with pain.

Never removing the knife from his cheek, she lifted her other hand to gently graze his forehead- over the place of impact- running a long finger over the new welt with a sadistic giggle. It was so strange. One hand was softly stroking his injury, while the other simultaneously held a blade to his face.

"Silly Amieryka," She cooed. Then without warning, her voice lowered into an appalling growl. " _There is no escape._ "

America felt chills run through him at the girl's disturbing change of tone. Removing her hand from his forehead, she thrust the paper at him once more, this time with an accompanying pen. " _Sign!_ " She demanded. " _Now!_ "

With a horrible throbbing in his head, America narrowed his eyes at the preposterous form. Her demanding tone only managing to help revive his old rebellious spirit. He would rip that stupid paper into shreds if he got ahold of it. _He wasn't going to 'marry' anyone_! _No one was going to force him to do anything!_

The realization that he was just going to sit here and allow this lunatic to push him around sparked a deep anger in him. _No one_ could tell him what to do. Not Britain, not France, not Belarus. He was the Hero. What gave this Belarusian the right to trespass on his property, damage his belongings, and then expect him to take her as his wife? Not only was that utterly ridiculous, but she was in _his_ country breaking _his_ laws and putting _his_ citizens in danger. That was unacceptable! He wasn't going to stand for this any longer!

Regaining his stubborn attitude and trying to ignore the pounding in his head, he found a sly smirk playing on his lips. His sudden change of expression made Belarus impossibly glance at him for a moment, but then as if she realized that maybe he was finally giving in, her grin returned as well.

With them both now strangely grinning at each other, America eyed the girl. "Alright."

Natalya could hardly believe her ears. Alfred had just agreed!

Still cautious, she gently lifted her leg- just enough for him to free his arm- and he brought the appendage up to snatch the pen from her. She held the paper out, facing him, so he could easily sign it.

As Alfred moved to write on the line, he found himself squinting furiously, trying to see through his jumbled glasses. They were hanging so far off to one side of his face, it was difficult to make anything out. And the fact that the only thing lighting the room was the natural light shining in through the tiny window wasn't helping either.

Noticing his struggle, the girl smoothly raised the tip of her knife from his cheek to move his spectacles back into place with. He felt its cool edge trail upon the side of his nose as she steadily lowered it again.

Alfred only smirked mischievously through his straightened glasses as he began to write. "Thank you." The boy murmured, appreciative that she had fixed Texas for him- even if it had been a daunting way.

As soon as his pen left the paper, the Belarusian immediately jumped up into a standing position, rapidly turning the paper around to scan its contents, her face beaming with accomplishment.

America, with most of the weight lifted off of him, began to urgently crawl out of the tub, falling over its edge in a crumpled pile. He promptly got to his feet and bolted out of the room before she could stop him. Belarus- too distracted with her now signed Marriage Registration Form- was too busy studying the endorsed sheet to care.

Her happiness was short lived, though, as she glimpsed at the words scribbled on the line.

' _Not on yo life sucka!'_ Was scrawled there in terribly sloppy penmanship.

Suddenly, she was so infuriated, all she could see was red. Her blood pressure skyrocketed and she felt her fingers impulsively tear the paper into shreds. A deep snarl emitted from her throat as her grip on the blades tightened to the point where she was surely bruising herself.

America clumsily zipped down the hall, nearly tripping over his own two feet. _He had to get out now!_

That little trick he pulled might have bought him some time, but it wouldn't be long before the Belarusian would notice and have his head for it! His defiant streak was starting to diminish as the realization of what he had wrote dawned on him. He had just been so angered at the time, it had seemed like such a good idea! But what good could possibly come from enraging her? Now, not only was she insane, but ticked off! Not a good combo...

Just as he skittered around a corner- about to descend down the staircase- an object whizzed past his right side, implanting itself deep into the wall behind him. It had happened so fast and come so dangerously close to him, he had almost thought it had grazed him- but not wanting to waste anymore precious time, the nation flew down the stairs taking three steps at a time. As he frantically galloped down the stairwell, he was finally starting to notice the screaming pain lingering in his side.

He braced himself on the hand railing, and dipped his head down for a split second long enough to notice a ragged tear on his right side, engulfing his white tank top in a sea of scarlet. Apparently, Belarus had been a better shot then he had anticipated. The knife had just scraped past him, slicing open the surrounding skin.

Gritting his teeth in pain, he clamped a hand over his side, determined not to let the puny injury stop him. It might have hurt like heck, but it was minor. He didn't dare look back- the distant clicking of the female's heels was enough to tell him that she wasn't far behind. _Would she really kill him?_ He didn't want to stick around and find out!

He reached the front door, throwing it open, and took off down the steps. After hearing the footsteps from behind suddenly cease, he turned to look back, hesitating a few yards from the bottom of his porch. The soft grasses tickled between his toes, and the air was pleasantly warm. It would've been a nice day- if he hadn't been being hunted down by a murderous stalker! He could feel a pocket of blood start to fill his palm and removed it from his wound for a brief moment to stare sickeningly at the sticky liquid.

Regaining his train of thought, he looked back up to the open doorway with palpable concern. To his surprise, there was no Belarusian bounding toward him- grinning evilly with knives at the ready.

It was empty.

This only sparked a bigger worry in Alfred. _Where did she go? What was she up to now?_ He felt his blood pounding in his ears as he listened intently for any sign of the girl closing in.

Still nothing.

Had she given up?

After a few seconds of standing and staring, Alfred heard the thuds of a few brisk footsteps from upstairs, when suddenly, a being was catapulted off of the balcony's edge from above- like a panther pouncing on its prey. The image of her swirling blue dress cascading rapidly down upon him was almost captivating.

He barely had time to turn and let out a horrified yelp before he was aware of what felt like a freight train crashing into him at full speed, sending him flying into the ground. The last thing he felt were the tingling pricks of a dozen thorns as his head was forcefully implanted into a nearby rose bush- his body helplessly colliding into the unforgiving earth.

 _The panther had pounced._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **You should have just kept running, Al, you shoulda just kept running… (Run, Forrest, Run! Lol no XD)**

 **Yeehaw, cliffhangers! They're great, aren't they? These chapters just keep on getting longer and longer! But I'm okay with that and I'm sure you guys are too!**

 **I just want to thank you all for all of the favorites and follows this story has gotten! You all left such nice reviews for me and it makes me so overjoyed to know you guys like it! A big thanks to all of the people out there who are actually keeping up with this strange little tale o' mine! ;) It should only get increasingly insane as it goes on! XD**

 **Also, one awesome reviewer informed me about this song called 'Stalker' by a group called Goldfinger (You can look it up on Youtube if you're curious.) and I thought it was pretty funny! It was really entertaining and it goes along with the story surprisingly well! Thank you** _ **Rosemary**_ **for mentioning it to me! ^-^ (If this story had to have a theme song, that would definitely be it.)**

 **Chapter 4 Translations:** **(From Google, of course… There is kind of a lot, although I'm sure you can figure most of them out on your own... but if you can't- ;D)**

 _ **Amieryka-**_ **America (Belarusian)**

 _ **Dy**_ **\- Yes (Belarusian)**

 _ **Bonjour**_ **\- Hello (French)**

 _ **Angleterre**_ **\- England (French)**

 _ **Amérique**_ **\- America (French)**

 _ **Mon ami**_ **/** _ **Mon cher**_ **\- My friend/My dear (French)**

 _ **Oui**_ **\- Yes (French)**

 _ **Amour**_ **\- Love (French)**

 **Thanks again, fellas! I'll see you next time!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	5. Chapter 5

Someone was touching Nantucket.

He felt a warm breath wash against his face.

A singeing pain resonated from somewhere deep in his side, and the haze of a severe migraine muddled his thoughts.

He didn't know where he was, but after wiggling his toes, he swore he could feel the surface of a soft fabric nearby.

Releasing a moan, sky blue eyes fluttered open, painfully squinting at the world around them.

No, he wasn't outdoors anymore, but rather, inside, sprawled out on his couch.

All feelings of comfort rapidly dissipated as sapphires suddenly came into contact with amethysts.

The girl's vibrant purple irises seemed to bore into him as they peered down at his contorted face. Texas had been removed, morphing his surroundings into a collection of blurred shapes. He could only distinguish the upside-down silhouette of the Belarusian's head as she hung over him. One of her hands held a knife shaped object, the other had Nantucket carefully twisted around a finger as if she was about to hack it off.

Alfred gasped, immediately lunging forward. He frantically reached up to snatch the cowlick out of her grasp before she could harm it. You couldn't just cut off Nantucket! Just like you couldn't shave Britain's eyebrows or pluck out Canada's curl! That's just not how it worked!

Surprisingly, she offered no resistance.

As he snatched it away from the blade's edge, a sharp pain shot up from his side, causing him to wince in misery.

The girl remained expressionless to his suffering.

America clutched his side, plopping back down to lay flat against the couch cushion. _How had he gotten here?_

He took a rigid breath as he eyed Natalya fearfully. His head rested on the arm of the couch, and behind it stood the girl- humbly poised- her eyes carefully observing him. He glanced down the length of his body, discovering that his tank top had been removed in place of a crisp white bandage. He studied it intently, noticing how it wrapped around his mid-section numerous times, concealing the gash on his side. If he looked closely, he could see a dab of blood starting to seep through its many layers.

 _How did…? Who had bandaged him? B-Belarus? No- She couldn't have… She would_ _ **never**_ _…_

The female suddenly shifted from her position and moved to stand before him. From what his struggling eyes could make out, her hands were crossed timidly in front of her, and her abnormally large eyes made her carry an odd air of innocence. He shivered. _It kind of reminded him of Russia…_ But, the way her oversized bow popped out of her platinum blond locks reminded him of a little school girl.

"H-how long?" He croaked out. He didn't have to finish his question. He knew by the look in her eyes that she knew exactly what he was asking. He just wasn't sure if he was expecting an answer or not…

The girl slowly blinked her long lashes together in thought. "An hour…" She murmured so quietly he could barely catch it.

 _An hour?_ He squinted in confusion, trying to recall the events leading up to his loss of consciousness. He had been running from her, and then… he wasn't sure what had exactly happened. He just had the incredulous notion that she had somehow leapt onto him from the balcony and they had landed in one of his rosebushes. _But_ _that was completely insane… Suicidal even! She couldn't possibly have done something as crazy as-_

 _Oh crap… But she would! She_ _ **would**_ _do something as crazy as that!_

Alfred's eyes lit up in terror.

He could only be thankful that they weren't human, for if they had been, that little stunt could have gotten them both killed! Wait… was Belarus okay? What if she had gotten hurt in the fall? _...Why did he care?_

He peered up at her uncertainly, his eyes straining to make out the details of her soft features. Without his glasses, she was more of a fuzzy blob. He could make out her body's edges and colors, but they were strangely distorted.

Suddenly, as if sensing his distress, his spectacles were gently lowered onto his nose by a cold hand. He looked around again, through his new lenses, this time seeing the girl clearly as she pulled her arm away… And dang… The way the light from the window cascaded down around her like that… she looked kind of _angelic_ … not scary at all… almost like an _angel._

 _Whoa there! What was he thinking?!_ Surely he was just delirious.

The chick had tried to kill him! Not to mention cut off Nantucket while he had been passed out! What else had she done to him while he had been incapacitated?!

But… she _had_ been kind enough to bandage him, hadn't she? He didn't want to believe it, but what other explanation could there be? Maybe she wasn't entirely out of her mind, after all.

Not saying another word, Natalya quickly walked out of the room for a moment, leaving Alfred to wonder to himself. _Could he really trust her?_

She returned seconds later with an ice pack in hand.

She leaned over him, gently placing the object on his forehead- directly over the knot he had received whilst trying to escape the whole bathroom scene. He immediately felt the object's pressure over the tender lump, so numbingly cold he was forced to grit his teeth to bare it.

Alfred shied away from her touch, nearly yelping as she removed her hands from him. Her fingers were so inhumanly cold, he couldn't tell the difference between them, and the ice pack.

The Belarusian then lowered onto her knees beside him, her dress folding neatly underneath her. She leaned over his middle-section, nimble fingers beginning to fiddle with his dressings.

He started, horrified blue eyes widening at her. " _No! Stop! What are you-"_

Her blank stare cut him off. "Darahi Amieryka, your bandages are in need of changing." She explained softly.

If he didn't know any better, he would have thought her accent was lulling. But he _did_ know better. He wasn't going to fall for any of her tricks. He wouldn't allow himself to be deceived by this manipulative lunatic!

But if she was going to help him, who was he to stop her?

Still on edge, Alfred clenched his fists together, his body uncomfortably tensing. _He didn't want her to touch him._

She abruptly rose- causing him to flinch- and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. "You must sit up." She ordered numbly.

After a brief hesitance, Alfred reluctantly began to rise, not wanting to displease the girl any further.

She gripped his arm- steadying him- and held the icepack to his forehead as he sat upright. The motion sent a searing discomfort through his side, and he cringed, buckling forward. His head was pounding like a drum.

The girl slowly released him, retrieving a roll of gauze off a nearby table and took a tentative seat on the couch cushion behind him. Alfred brought his other arm up to hold the ice pack in place as she began to work.

He didn't like not being able to see her. It made him uncomfortable. Who knew what she would do to him while his back was turned? He wasn't too fond of her putting her hands on him as it was.

Alfred cocked his head to the side, shooting her a nervous glance.

She didn't seem to notice.

Her lips were pursed in a taut line as she felt around his lower back for the bandage's fray edge, proceeding to peal the long strip upwards. Her frigid fingers sent a shiver down his spine. Those same fingers had probably handled numerous knives and tortured countless people.

Her hands quickly unraveled the long strip from around his middle. He held his breath as her cool skin brushed against his. _He didn't like this… Not one bit…_

Once the last strip was removed, his eyes shifted downward to study the open wound. There was a small break in the skin, but considering the last time he'd seen it, it had definitely shrunk. He could always rely on his accelerated nation-healing abilities to have him feeling better in no time! Well, most of the time, depending on how well his country was faring. Before long, it would probably close up entirely, but for the time being, it still looked in need of concealment. It was still at risk of infection.

The Belarusian leaned her slender face around him, taking in the condition of his injury. As she leaned past him, something in her tangled hair caught his attention. There, sitting perfectly in the middle of her sea of blond locks, was a single white rosebud. Why, it even looked like it still had a few morning dew drops coating its delicate little form…

Wait… _A rosebud_ … So this meant… they really had tumbled into that rosebush? He wasn't just dreaming that whole thing up? Well, that explained the thorn marks all over his neck… Man, this chick really was bonkers!

After close inspection, the girl retracted her head to face his back again. He listened uncomfortably as she unrolled a fresh strip of gauze. Pale hands reached around his waist, and she promptly began layering a set of fresh bandages around him.

He glanced around, noticing his bloodied tank top neatly folded on a nearby table. Next to it sat a couple bottles of cleaning alcohol and antiseptic wipes from one of his cabinets- presumably used to clean his injury with while he was out. He looked down at his hands, realizing they had been cleansed of their sticky coating of blood as well. The only trace left, was the red caking his nails.

He was abruptly pulled from his daze when his wound began to burn with agitation. He gritted his teeth together, desperately trying to cover up the whimper beginning to escape his lips. He didn't want to let Belarus know how much pain he was in. He didn't want to show her any more weakness.

"Shhhhh…" The female's gentle voice hushed him like a mother quieting a child, her breath tickling against his ear.

It was hard to believe this was the same girl as before. He had to keep reminding himself before he got to comfortable, that any second she could turn back into that rabid monster who dismantled his bathroom door and sent him running for his life. He turned his head toward her and searched her curiously… _Where did she put that knife from earlier, anyways? Where did she hide them at?_

Her nimble fingers quickly moved around his body, ignoring him as a new set of bandages were wrapped thickly back in place.

He had to wonder though… _Was she sorry? Did she feel bad about what she had done?_

I mean, why was she even helping him at all? It didn't make any sense. For the short time he'd known her, she had managed to publically threaten him, follow him home (not to mention through a six hour car drive), sneak into his house through an open window, and stalk him.

He shuttered at the image of the freakish girl hiding somewhere in his house, quietly watching him as he peacefully dreamt, completely unaware of her presence.

His eyes wandered around his surroundings, studying the crumpled blanket laying in a heap on the couch next to him. On the table next to his old pajama top, sat a familiar half-eaten bowl of potato chips. Salt and Vinegar. Just how Tony liked them…

 _Oh crap._

 _Tony._

How could he have forgotten about Tony?! He was such a horrible friend! He had been so distracted- so caught up in this mess- he had forgotten all about him!

With the newfound knowledge that Belarus had been lurking in his house the entire time, the idea that his alien friend had just simply 'went out with some friends' seemed very unlikely. His abrupt disappearance was starting to look more like a possible kidnapping or murder case.

 _Oh goodness…_ How long had Natalya been in his house for?! What if she had encountered Tony on her way in? _Oh no… No no no no._ This was really bad! _What had she done to him?! He was so young! Poor Tony! Poor sweet little Tony, who spoke in his own little unique language of curses, laying around on his couch playing video games all day! He was so innocent!_

Unable to take the tense silence any longer, America spoke up.

"What did you do to him?" He burst out. His tone was scary serious as he stared straight ahead, his brow narrowing. His eyes glistened with horror. He was trying to be angry, but it was hard to when he was so afraid. Forget ghosts. Belarus is what he _should_ have been scared of.

He felt the girl's wrapping motion abruptly come to a halt. She stayed absolutely silent.

The stillness was unbearable.

"What did you do to Tony?" He repeated into the eerie silence, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

Another long pause.

"You know. My friend. H-he's an alien. I met him back in 47'. Name's Tony. _He lives here_." His sentences came out short and clipped, gaining urgency as he went on.

Belarus remained as still as a statue.

" _What have you done to him_?" He choked out, feeling his muscles tense.

The Belarusian finally unfroze, resuming her work, finishing her last layer of wrappings and securing the bandage in place.

America abruptly turned to face her, swinging his legs off of the couch. He didn't care how much pain it caused him, he wanted to look this she-devil straight in the eyes.

The girl averted her gaze, sheepishly looking downwards. Suddenly her violet orbs rose to meet his own. Her vibrant eyes would never cease to amaze him. How anything could be that unnaturally purple was beyond him. However, her personality was another story.

"The short grey one." She replied dryly. America glared, although most of his rage was consumed by a sense of worsening dread.

"No harm has come to him." She stated blankly. "I ensured him that I would provide him with twenty of your American dollars if he would kindly leave me to my business. He took the bills and happily complied. His current whereabouts are unknown to me."

 _Why that little-_ That traitor! She _bribed_ him?! With _twenty bucks_!? How could Tony be so quick to abandon him like that?!

He felt a sudden spark of anger fill up his chest, along with a sense of relief.

At least nothing bad had happened to him, he supposed. He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself knowing that he had let someone hurt Tony. America couldn't help but feel betrayed. But, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like something Tony would do. _Seriously, man! After everything I've done for you!?_ He mentally ranted.

Alfred brought a hand up to his face with an agitated sigh. "Oh, Tony…" He mumbled disappointedly.

After a pause, the Belarusian rose from her seat, removing the ice pack from his head. She gingerly left, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she exited the room once more. He heard the sound of what he thought was the refrigerator door closing, and then the girl reentered again with a piece of paper in hand.

America's heart immediately dropped at the sight. _No, please. Not that. Not again._

Natalya slowly neared him, a hopeful expression in her eyes. Her violent orbs sparkled pleadingly as she held the dreadful paper up for him to see- a crisp, new 'Marriage Registration Form'.

What, did she think that just because she had managed to bandage him up meant that he had suddenly forgiven her? That he had just suddenly forgotten everything she'd put him through, and fallen madly in love with her? That he would just merrily sign the paper and they would live happily ever after? _Oh, heck no! If that's what she thought, then she had another thing coming to her!_

As soon as the slightest hint of distaste crossed America's lips, the girl' innocent expression dropped into oblivion. Her stoic mask fell and her lips folded back into a harsh frown, her eyes darkening with lunacy.

Alfred bit his lip as he felt a cool sweat began to soak his back. _Not that look._ _Anything but that look._

Clearly, resisting wasn't going to get him anywhere- not that he was going to give in. He just needed a new strategy.

"Hey, Belarus…" He started, suppressing a scowl. "You know what? I'll make you a deal!" He exclaimed, conjuring up as much of his normal, happy-go-lucky tone as he could.

The girl lowered the paper hesitantly, tilting her head curiously to the side- the darkness that was about to consume her, momentarily disabled.

"You see, ya can't just go and try to marry someone like that. I'm not sure how it works back in Belarus, but here in the States you normally have to get to know the person first." He explained carefully.

"W-why don't we just try being _friends_ for now?" He forced a warm smile.

The girl stared blankly back at him, trying her best to grasp his words. " _F-friend…_?" She whispered unsurely, trying the word out on her tongue.

"Yeah!" America reassured enthusiastically.

"If I become your ' _friend_ ', y-you will marry me?" She murmured curiously, her features lightening up with hope.

' _Of course not.'_ America internally retorted. But her sad expression was so pathetic, it almost made him pity her. He liked making people happy- that was his job as the Hero- not to crush their dreams…

"Uhh…" He stuttered with a goofy grin. "…I-I might!"

Belarus's face immediately tightened, her nose crinkling, clearly recognizing his hesitance and not appreciating his vague answer. He couldn't fool her. She wanted a guarantee.

America bit the inside of his cheeks nervously. _He couldn't just agree, could he?! That would just be flat out lying! He didn't like to lie! He knew it was wrong and he was horrible at it!_

But, as he saw the glint of a sudden blade fall perfectly into her pale fingertips from a frilly sleeve, a sense of overwhelming fear over rid any hope of honesty left in him. The knife even appeared to still have a small speckle of red coating its jagged edge, like she had neglected to clean it. _His blood._

 _Oh goodness._ What was he going to do now?! He was too weak to fight back and he didn't want a repeat of this morning! _Crap-Crap-Crap-Crap-_

" _I will_." He forced out unsteadily, all traces of his goofy smile gone, an inevitable sense of doom settling over his features. " _I-I'll marry you._ " He uttered.

The only response he received was a psychotic grin filled with an array of pearly white fangs.

* * *

The atmosphere after this little arrangement had been made was extremely unsteady. It was as if Alfred had become a prisoner within his own home.

He still couldn't believe he'd agreed to that! _He couldn't marry her!_ Not only would that be politically unacceptable, but personally, he didn't even really like Belarus in that way in the first place!

He desperately wanted to brighten the mood though, the gloom overtaking the room was really starting to weigh down on him.

 _Oh well…_ He'd figure something out eventually. He was the Hero! He would just need buy himself some time for now, and the whole 'friend' act was the perfect way to do so! He would just need to put off confrontation for as long as possible with his nice-guy routine and hope she wouldn't end up killing him before he made his move.

The tense silence was broken by the rumbling of his stomach. He was _starving_.

Hey! The apple-pie! Perfect!

Just the thought of indulging himself with such a delicacy helped to brighten his mood considerably. He placed a dull smile on his lips as he began to stumble off of the sofa. As soon as he managed to rise to his feet, he felt all the blood rush to his head and his knees weaken, wobbling.

For once, he had been lucky that Belarus was there. Without her, he would have surely fallen flat on his face. But then again, without her, he wouldn't have gotten shanked in the first place…

She firmly grasped his upper arm, pulling him back up to his feet. Her sudden irritation from earlier disappearing along with her disturbing smirk. He was glad. The knife had thankfully gone out of sight as well.

He mumbled his thanks and she steadily led him into the kitchen, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders to guide him.

"You hungry?" He asked politely, voice still shaky.

The girl only stared.

"I-I made some apple-pie yesterday. You must be starving." He tried to smile up at her, but it came of more nervous than he had anticipated.

He needed to get rid of this constant fear of her. Or at least figure out how to hide it. If they were going to be friends- or at least pretend to be- they needed to be able to trust each other.

America neared the counter, locating the said baked good and pulling it closer. He searched all around the counter for something to cut it with. The kitchen was still a bit jumbled up from yesterday- as he had neglected to clean it- and utensils where laying spilled out everywhere. _Man, Belarus probably thought he was a dirty slob._

Before he could react, a blade abruptly lunged out of the corner of his eye, nearly giving him a panic attack. If he hadn't been gripping the edge of the counter for dear life, he would have surely toppled backwards in alarm.

He nearly cried out before he realized that he wasn't the blade's intended target. The pie was.

He glanced back at Natalya, eyes wide and uneasy. The girl made no eye-contact as she began hacking away at the pie, cutting it into eight equal slices.

 _It's okay. It's okay, Alfred. You're okay. She was only trying to help._ He kept mentally trying to convincing himself, swallowing his dismay. He was still so jumpy, an ant could have freaked him out.

A gruesome thought occurred to him, and he desperately hoped that she wasn't using the same blade as before to cut the pie with. He remembered the dots of blood covering it. The thought of eating a piece of pie smothered with the taste of his own blood made him queasy.

After dismissing the thought and making them each a plate, his gaze wandered down to the set of empty dog-bowls left abandoned on the kitchen tiles below.

 _Oh yeah! Uni!_ Wow, he was really getting forgetful lately.

Yep, that's right. He had kept that unicorn Britain had given him for his birthday (Once he had accepted that the thing was indeed a unicorn at all, that was. He still had doubts.) At first, it had completely terrified him, but after a while he had grown accustomed to leaving it some nibbles of food and refilling its water bowl. Britain had demanded that he care for it properly. He said that Unicorns weren't as common as they used to be. Whatever that meant… _Crazy old man. The least he could do was humor him…_

Rolling his eyes, America promptly readied another slice of pie. "Hey, Natalya, could you pick that bowl up for me?" He gestured to it.

Not questioning, the girl complied, handing him the empty dish. He lowered a fresh slice of apple-pie into it, motioning for her to place it back down. _Better than nothing, he supposed._ _He didn't know what unicorns ate anyways…_

"Thanks, it's for the Unicorn." He said casually. "That stubborn rascal…" He mumbled to himself.

Belarus raised an incredulous eyebrow, staring down at the bowl as it sat untouched. Maybe she wasn't the crazy one after all. She was starting to question Alfred's sanity.

* * *

The next half-hour was filled with Alfred's incessant rambling about 'the concept of friendship'-as he called it, because the Belarusian seemed to be pretty unfamiliar with the topic in general. They sat awkwardly at the dining table, leisurely eating at their slices of pie. Well, _Alfred_ ate. Natalya mostly just picked uncertainly at the unfamiliar substance.

He was babbling on and on about something, but Natalya wasn't paying attention. Her mind was still processing the fact that he had just agreed to marry her.

You see, there really was no _'might'_ or _'maybe'_ in Belarus's mind anyway. She would become one with America no matter what he said, but the fact that he was actually going to comply only made it that much easier for her. In all her years, she had never gotten Russia to agree so quickly. She'd never gotten him to agree at all. Maybe America really was better than that stingy old snowman. At least he would appreciate her.

She actually found that she really enjoyed Alfred's company… even if he was unconscious- as she had found out earlier. He looked like a little boy when he was asleep. So pure. So naïve.

After she had pounced off of the balcony in her desperate attempt to recapture him, her rage had strangely faltered. After pulling back from his limp form once they had landed, she sat observing Alfred's unmoving body, peacefully dormant, encompassed in bed of white roses. The scene had somehow ebbed any last strand of anger left in her. She had only watched as a shower of snowy white petals cascaded down around them; one unlucky petal landing in a pool of scarlet red, staining its silvery surface with the tinge of America's blood.

She didn't know what came over her, but after seeing what obvious discomfort the boy had been in, she had felt a weird emotion come over her. She almost wanted to _help_ him. Clean his wounds and wrap him up somewhere safe. It was weird. She had never encountered anything like it before. The fact that _she_ was the one causing the American's suffering made her tainted heart wither with something similar to remorse.

Was this feeling… _guilt?_

She wasn't sure, but the great yearn she felt to take care of his helpless body was too powerful to ignore. She realized… that in an odd way… she didn't like his pain. It had an effect on her.

It hurt her.

It hurt her in a way she couldn't understand.

But, was this boy not trying to resist her? Defy her? _Did he not deserve to be in pain?_

Little did she know, there was a heated battle raging inside of her core. Through her haze of madness, this boy was bringing out a single spark of humanity. He was feeding the small ounce of sanity left, allowing it to thrive and blossom. He was teaching her how to _feel_ again.

Maybe she _would_ try and be his 'friend' after all.

Originally, her only intention had been to marry him, but she supposed that if it required becoming 'friends' with the man then she would go through with it. _She would do_ _anything if it meant that he would be with her._

The American chatted on and on, stuffing his face with a messy slice of pie. 'Apple-pie' he had addressed it as. She had figured as much. She had a small slice as well, but she wasn't too focused on eating the sugary cuisine at the moment.

She found herself staring into his clear blue irises as if in a trance, swallowed by thought.

"-so that's the basic concept of friendship. You just gotta-", the boy abruptly stopped, eyeing the Belarusian unsurely. "W-why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"

America proceeded to clumsily wipe at the side of his mouth with a sticky fist. "I-Is it gone?"

After no response, the boy continued, eyeing Belarus' own plate. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

The female nation only quietly lowered her gaze, scrutinizing the dish.

She hesitantly brought a fork full up to her lips, inhaling its sweet aroma.

 _Just like the chocolate._ Was all American food this sweet? Maybe that would explain how America had become such a sweet person… and the reasons for half of his citizens health problems… but that was beside the point.

She tentatively took a bite. It was gooey and tart, yet at the same time, the outside crust added a nice crispy effect to it.

Finding the meal acceptable, she proceeded to try and follow the boy's lead, scarfing the dish down.

* * *

Next thing she knew, Belarus was being dragged outside to do some 'friendship building' activities. Apparently they involved the wooden bat the man just had persisted to drag along with them.

Alfred had insisted that they bring Whale Dude a slice of pie. He had promised him.

As they neared the edge of the swimming pool, the whale promptly began to coo to America, flapping its tiny flippers- disproportionately small compared to its enormous body- in excitement.

"Sorry, Whalesy!" The boy pouted. "I know I promised you I'd bring you a slice first thing, but uh… as you can see, I kind of got a little preoccupied." Alfred nervously chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck after gesturing to the Belarusian at his heels.

He had slipped on a button up shirt over his bandages before coming outside, but he still seemed a little unsteady on his feet. He wouldn't let Belarus know, but his headache was killing him. At least now he was able to walk on his own.

He painfully lowered the plate he had brought with him down onto the concrete slab, but upon seeing his struggle, Belarus stepped in, gently taking it from him. She set it down carefully before the sea creature her America seemed to be so fond of.

As soon as the whale's beady eyes settled on the female, its chubby face contorted into a glare. If you could even call it that…

Immediately, the beast started whining in alarm, throwing its head around aggressively.

America tilted his head in confusion. "Whalesy? What's wrong? Do you not like the pie?"

The whale hurriedly shook its lardy head, splashing around in frustration.

Belarus shot a scowl back at the creature, taking a step back, behind the boy's muscular frame, trying not to give herself away.

Alfred wrinkled his forehead in thought as the creature's cries continues to fill the quiet morning air.

He finally seemed to notice who they were directed at and eyed the girl almost sympathetically.

"Gee, sorry Natalya. I don't know why he's acting like this. He's normally really friendly to visitors!"

As soon as the statement had left his mouth, Alfred immediately understood, although he tried not to let it show.

This scene was familiar. It was exactly what he'd seen the day before when they had been playing ball. He had originally thought the whale had just wanted a piece of pie… but now…

 _Oh, man._ _Had that been when Belarus had snuck in through the window? When he had been preoccupied with his ball game?_

He silently gasped.

That was why Whale Dude had been acting up so much! He must have seen her sneak in! He must have been trying to warn him about it! He mentally scolded himself. _He had been too oblivious to listen…_

Dismissing the thought as if not to let Natalya on, he dismissively patted his dear friend on the head and wandered off towards the shed, making a mental note to apologize to Whale Dude with a big thanks when this was over. Heck, he'd make him as many pies as he wanted.

After stopping at the small metal shed, Alfred led the girl out to the middle of a grassy field lugging a bucket of baseballs along with him.

He frowned. _He had never found his favorite one…_ He peered out at the trees for a moment, imagining his ball lodged out there in the brush somewhere.

"Alright!" He finally said, turning to face Natalya. "We're gonna play baseball! Well… not _actual_ baseball. There's not really enough players and I don't really have all of the right equipment with me, but we're just gonna see how many balls we can hit! That's what I normally do with Whalsey! Tony plays too sometimes, but he's more of an indoorsy type of guy, if you know what I mean… Anyway, it's pretty fun!" He finished cheerfully, eager to teach his little ball game to someone new.

"Here," He said, handing Natalya a ball, "You pitch it to me first and I'll show you how it's done!" He walked out a little ways into the field's lush grasses, swinging the bat over his shoulder.

Once he was a good distance away, he got into position, signaling for her to pitch.

The girl looked at the ball in her palm, holding it out awkwardly between two fingers. She glance back up at him uncomprehendingly.

"Just throw it!" He called impatiently back at her.

She hesitated for a moment, readying herself, and swiftly chucked the object forward. Alfred was caught off guard by the sheer amount of force behind it. _She had some arm!_

It was a little high, though. If he had been any ordinary unexperienced batter, it surely would have gone right over his head, but Alfred had countless years of practice and he was ready.

He keenly swung, just high enough to collide the bat with the ball's leather surface. He propelled it forward with every ounce of his super strength he had left- as if for show- and sent the ball whizzing out over the hills with a deafening _'crack'_.

Belarus watched in awe as the object sailed out far above her head, completely out of sight in an instant.

America found himself flashing a Hollywood smile as he strode up to her, bouncing his bat boastingly in his palm. "You wanna try?" He prompted slyly.

The female focused her violet gaze on him, her mouth slightly gaped in amazement. He didn't know why, but he really enjoyed trying to impress her- if not intimidate her.

"All you have to do is hit the ball," He explained, "But it normally helps if you stand a certain way." The boy took an instructive position next to her, placing his feet shoulder-width apart. "Like this." He instructed.

The girl didn't say a word, only watching curiously. She slowly shifted her feet into place, attempting to imitate him.

"Nah," America corrected, moving closer to mover her left foot back a little with the toe of his shoe. "It needs to be a little more spread out, like that. Then, when you swing," He began, demonstrating with the bat, "Grip one hand here, and the other a little ways above it."

Natalya eyed his positioning carefully.

Alfred held the bat out to her, expectantly.

After a moment of hesitation she gingerly took the object from him. At first, seeing the girl with a baseball bat horrified him. _The damage she would be capable of if she were to suddenly go off a psychopathic tirade…_ But thankfully, she didn't seem intent on harming him at the moment. She was quite calm actually. Focused.

The girl held the bat tightly, attempting to recreate the proper grip technique.

Pursing his lips a little, America stepped forward to assist her. He stood behind her, reaching around her body to place his hands over hers. He carefully readjusted her grasp on the bat's wooden handle, shifting her frigid fingers downwards a little, into their correct positions. _Were her hands always this cold?_ Maybe it had something to do with her country's climate. He couldn't help but want to warm them up for her.

The girl offered no resistance as he began to move the bat back and forth over their shoulders, still tightly gripping her hands under his, in a swingy motion. "Swing it like this. Make sure not to hit yourself with it on the backswing though, it should never touch your back." His larger body almost enveloped her tiny little form. He peered over her shoulder at her, feeling a rosy blush start to dust his cheeks. He didn't know why… _There was no reason he should be blushing…_ He quickly tried to shake it off, releasing her and taking a step back.

"Think you can handle it?" He asked, clearing his throat.

After studying the bat in her hands for a moment she solemnly nodded to him.

Taking a couple of baseballs from the bucket, America jogged out about twenty feet away, stopping to look back at her. "You ready?" He called out.

He saw her curt nod and pulled his arm back for a steady underhand throw.

He pitched the ball, almost perfectly, and observed closely as it shot out towards the girl.

He watched in disappointment as it plopped lazily onto the ground beside her. She hadn't even make a move to hit it.

She looked up at him unsurely.

"That's alright!" He yelled back reassuringly. "Why don't we just try again?"

Again, he pulled his arm back, carefully judging the distance, and let the ball fly.

This time, the sound of bat-hitting-ball split the air, and the object came sailing back.

He was almost proud of her for a moment. That was before he realized just _where_ the ball was spiraling back to.

His smile drooped and his face tightened. The object pounded into him so hard his glasses nearly flew off. _It had hit him right in the worst place possible. The place you should_ _ **never**_ _hit a guy._

He promptly dropped to his knees clutching his crotch as he let out a whimper. _Now he knew how Canada felt._ He couldn't help but think of this as some kind of sick payback. _He should really have apologized to his brother._

He toppled over onto the ground, a colorful display of curses being spit from under his breath as he curled up into a ball of agony. _Why? Why did he even try? Why did he do this to himself?!_

As he continued to wither on the ground in misery, the only thing he could make out from his surroundings was the faint question ringing out behind him.

"Did I win?!"

* * *

After America's little _injury_ , he led Belarus back indoors for a less dangerous activity.

Board-games! It was a brilliant idea! What could possibly go wrong, right?

Yeah, well he'd never played board-games with _Natalya_ before.

Monopoly had been a complete disaster. Even choosing their game pieces had been a struggle.

He had picked the man on the horse (He always picked that one. It reflected his inner cowboy… Although the racecar and cannon where tempting choices as well… Britain always picked the battleship, being the grumpy old pirate that he was. Haha!) Natalya had picked- drumroll please! …The thimble… which she had then proceeded to unsurely place on the end of her pinky finger. Well, at least it wasn't the iron, right? Oh, who was he kidding, that was the dullest piece in the entire game…

Things only got harder from there.

"Alright, Natalya. You rolled a three, so you can move forward three spaces… N-No- Other direction! _There you go_!"

It was like playing with a small child who had never rolled a pair of dice before.

"Baltic Ave." She had read, landing on a space.

"Now you can either buy it or-"

"I'll buy it."

"What? B-But the rent's only four bucks! You might want to-"

" _I would like to purchase it._ "

" _O-Okay!_ Hehehe… Sure thing, Nat!"

It only got worse when she had comically landed on the 'Go to Jail' space. The concept was harder to explain then he had thought…

"'G-Go to jail?" The girl had hissed, clearly taken aback.

"Y-yeah, that happens sometimes, here, just go to-"

" _I'm not going._ "

"Well, you kinda have to… but don't worry about it, you can get out if you roll doubles or-"

" _THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! I HAVE NOT COMMITTED A CRIME!"_ However much Alfred disagreed with that statement, he still had to try and calm her down.

" _Whoa, Bela!_ It's just a game, man! You're not actually going to jail!"

That took a twenty minute reassurance that the cops weren't actually going to come and arrest her. Although, Alfred couldn't say he would have stopped them if they had.

Things got a little out of hand when Belarus finally landed on one of his properties.

" _Ohhhh!_ Haha! I got ya now! Let's see… New York Ave, with _three houses!_ …That would be six hundred dollars! _Pay up, dude!_ "

Okay. He should've known that would have been a bad idea. Especially after the whole 'Jail' incident.

It ended with the girl lunging across the table at him, a blade held at his throat, seething about how she wasn't going to pay _him_ a cent.

" _Okay!_ " He had nervously laughed. "How about we play a different game?"

After another twenty minutes of hopeless explanation, Alfred promptly gave up. At least he hadn't bought a hotel too. If six hundred dollars had caused her to nearly jump across the table, he didn't want to know what a thousand would have caused…

* * *

Once he had come to the conclusion that board-games and Belarus just didn't mix, he figured they should do something more relaxing, considering how he was pretty much spent for the day and Natalya was still trying to calm down from the mistake that had been 'Monopoly'.

After eating a quick meal, Alfred had settled her down on the couch, looking through his DVD rack.

 _Now it was time for the true friendship test! Horror movie time~!_

Every one of his friends had sat down and watched at least one horror movie with him at some point. In fact, he frequently held movie nights, inviting all of the nations over for soda and popcorn. It was like a tradition. I mean, he didn't want to watch them alone… so what choice did he really have? It was more fun with his buddies beside him anyways!

Selecting one of his old favorites, he popped it in the DVD player and plopped down on the couch, flipping the lights off. With how late it was getting, the windows were void of natural light- save for the glow of the moon- and the room was blackened for the perfect Horror movie atmosphere!

As the movie started, Belarus sat on the edge of the couch, awkwardly. It seemed like it was all she could do not to just nod off right then and there.

"Hey. You might wanna get comfy. It's gonna be a couple hours." He told her.

She only peered over at him oddly for a moment before shifting back a little further into the seat. America pulled some of the blankets up over her, but she didn't complain. _Why would she?_

It didn't make sense to him that the Belarusian wanted to marry him so badly, yet she seemed to have little interest in forming a friendship with him. It's like all she cared about was getting him to sign that darned paper.

As the film progressed, Alfred couldn't help but cringe at the terrifying scenes playing out on screen before him, pulling the blankets up to his nose as a chain-saw killer chased a poor girl down a dark alleyway.

"Don't go down there! _No!_ Can't you see it's a trap?!" He frantically cried out at the screen, as if the characters could somehow hear him.

Belarus only stared at him, startled to see the 'Hero' acting so frightened over some dumb movie. Honestly, the special effects where horrible and the killer wasn't even scary. In fact, his outfit only made him look even stupider.

That was half of the reason why the female couldn't hold back her grueling laugh as the man started to maliciously saw his victim's limbs off. The other half of the reason? Well she was just insane.

America only gawked at the screen, pale and wide-eyed, letting out a shrill little scream. "Noooo! Ahhhggg! _Too scary! Too Scary!_ Ahhhgghhhh! I want Mr. Pillow!"

After realizing the sadistic cackling filling the room wasn't coming from the TV screen, he peered over at the Belarusian in the darkness, horrified. She was practically having a spasm of hysterical laughter as blood and gore sprayed the camera in a gruesome display of shrieks from the girl being hacked to pieces. The roar of the chain saw echoed through his thoughts, but Belarus's sick cackling drowned even _that_ out.

Alfred screamed even louder, fidgeting nervously under his blankets. " _AHHHHAHHHHAHHAH!_ THE HORROR! I CAN'T DO IT, MAN! I CAN'T DO IT!" He found himself instinctively reaching out to hold the first thing he could find, somehow managing to latch onto Belarus's tiny waist and grab her into a tight embrace. " _Ahhhhahahahhhhhh!_ " He practically rocked the couch in his panic, completely losing it. _What if the Chainsaw guy found him next?!_

 _No!_ He had to keep reminding himself to be the Hero and keep watching! _He could pull through!_

His replacement pillow only looked up at him, momentarily surprised for a moment, but then continued to hysterically laugh at the sappy violence playing out on screen before her. Her mad giggles only ceased when the scene came to an end and America was left trembling with his face buried into her shoulder. "Ahhggghhh… Is it over?" He whimpered pathetically.

As soon as he realized who he was holding onto, he immediately released her, scrambling as far away from her on the couch as humanly possible. Thankfully, the darkness surrounding them covered any trace of the red flushing his cheeks from sight.

As the night went on, several other rounds of disturbing laughter and screaming ensued until the movie came to a standstill where the two main characters where having a conversation. America yawned, snuggling up in his cocoon of blankets.

Man, he was totally beat. Today had been a long day. He had got stabbed, pounced on, socked with a baseball, and many other things that he would rather not remember. He subconsciously leaned back onto the sofa, letting his drowsy eyes drift shut for just a moment.

Suddenly, he felt a weight shift next to him, and suddenly a warm head was leaning against him. His eyes flew open, glancing downward as they registered the female's body slouched against his shoulder. Alfred tightened at first, unsure of what to do, but upon realizing that the girl had fallen asleep, he visibly relaxed.

He tried to disconnect her from him without waking her, but she had somehow managed to latch herself onto his shirt, curling her slender fingers into the mass of fabric. She was stuck to him like a leach. He carefully reached for the remote, silencing the television.

Sighing, America turned to lay flat on the sofa, resting his head on the arm's cushion. The girl settled against him, resting her head on his chest, her ragged bow tickling at his nose.

 _Hey, she actually looked really peaceful when she was asleep._ Her constant scowl was gone, replaced by a serene expression. He watched as her eyes fluttered behind their lids as she dreamt.

He slid Texas off his nose, gently reaching back to place them on the table behind him.

Maybe this friend thing wouldn't be so bad.

Sure, she was completely out of her mind, but that just meant that he would have to keep his guard up. I mean, he couldn't just dislike her because she was crazy, right? That wasn't her fault. She had lived with _Russia_ all these years, after all. _Who knew the things she'd seen?_

She _was_ kind of pretty… in an elegant sort of way. Like a fragile white rose. Yeah, _a rose_. It was the perfect analogy. She was pretty on the outside, but get too close and you would feel her thorns. He certainly had. She was also incredibly strong, but unpredictable, like a storm. Not too familiar with Western customs, and a bit possessive, but maybe he could make this friendship work.

It was like a superhero movie, and he was the main Hero of course, but Belarus was like… the villain. Or more like the villain's sidekick… yeah, that seemed about right… There always seemed to be at least one evil lady… (We all knew who the main villain would be… Kolkolkol ^J^)

He would just have to teach her how to be good.

 _Yeah…_

But… there was still the whole marriage thing… What was he going to do if he couldn't convince her otherwise? What if he was actually forced into marrying her?

Oh, he would have a lot of fun trying to explain _that_ to his boss.

There would be no way he would approve of that. A union between the United States and the Republic of Belarus would not help the US in any way, politically speaking. Although… maybe it could be used to help weaken Russia's stronghold on Eastern Europe… He was sure Natalya could benefit from an alliance between them…

Man, he was just rambling now. He had no idea what he was even thinking about anymore. Sleep was rapidly starting to overwhelm him as he felt the girl's soft breaths lulling him, pulling him ever closer to drifting off.

His breaths began to even- coinciding with hers- and he dozed off, inhaling the dainty scent of Natalya's platinum locks.

White roses would fill his dreams tonight.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Well, how long do you think this little relative peace between them is going to last? (Me: A couple hours, tops. '-' )**

 **Man, this chapter was such a mess to write! It took a while to clean up, but overall, I'm kind of happy with how it turned out.**

 **As you've probably noticed, I've been trying to follow a weekly update schedule, (I don't like to make people wait! DX) but I may need to start taking a little longer between updates… ^.^"**

 **I mean, school is starting up again soon, and I have a lot of summer work that needs to get done… Heehee… But don't worry guys! No matter how long it takes me, I will finish this story! ^o^ (Determination!) I won't abandon it!**

 **Just giving you guys a heads up so nobody freaks out if it ends up taking me a while to update! I will try to get the next chapters up as soon as I can! (I presume that there will be somewhere around 10 chapters in total to this story.)**

 **This chapter was** _ **so**_ **long, it was basically two whole chapters in one! (8,000+ Words, You welcome! :3) I didn't intend for it to be so long, but I just couldn't find a good place to slit it up at!**

 **No matter! The show will go on! Thank you guys sooooooo very much for all of the support! All of your nice reviews really keep me motivated! : )**

 **Chapter 5 Translations** **:** **(You can thank Google Translate!)**

 _ **Darahi**_ **\- Darling/Dear (Belarusian)**

 _ **Amieryka**_ \- **America (Belarusian)**

 **Thanks again, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! See you later!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	6. Chapter 6

_His eyes followed a falling white blossom as it landed perfectly inside the center of his outstretched palm._

 _He intently stared at its petals ragged edges, mesmerized by its unexplainable beauty. Its enchanting scent tingled at the tip of his nose as he inhaled._

 _Without warning, unbearably bright light shot out from all around it, encasing the bloom and modifying the blank scene before him._

 _Suddenly, heavy snow compacted his polished dress shoes, freezing them to the earth. Their crisp black surfaces shining in contrast to the glistening white surrounding them._

 _He lifted his chin to take in the view of numerous rows of benches, a distinct walkway flowing through their middle, carving a path through the thick layer of white powder._

 _Every seat was occupied, with so many faces he couldn't place a name to them all. But, from who he did recognize, there seemed to be a vast amount of countries all gathered together in their finest dress-wear, faces absolutely devoid of expression, in wait for something to begin. Every single nation's attire was drenched in an unsettling white canvas._

 _Countless sets of empty eyes stared deep into his being. All of their attention seemed to be drawn strictly on him._

 _He suddenly felt very vulnerable._

 _It took him a moment, but he finally understood._

 _It was a wedding._

 _Normally, he didn't care for weddings. The only parts he particularly looked forward to were the food and after-party where he could show off his moves and chat with the guests. Not that he had been invited to many weddings throughout the duration of his lifetime…_

 _But, whose wedding was it now?_

 _He glanced around at an abnormally tall man, standing patiently at his right, holding a thick black book. He stood under an archway of vivid green vines, curling around the structures elaborate designs like snakes. White roses filled its recesses, matching the pile of wet snow beginning to pile up on top of them in an icy blanket._

 _He looked down at his chest, taking in the perfectly white suit and tie- a withered rose poking out from a front pocket- the coloration of his clothes making him blend perfectly into the ground, becoming one with the glistening piles of ice surrounding him. New flakes continued to land as a swift breeze ruffled his hair._

 _His mind blanked with realization._

 _ **Him.**_

 _He was the one getting married._

 _In that instant, a movement caught his attention from just beyond the open walkway._

 _Emerging from the range of dense ever-greens filling the horizon- their pointy tops meeting the dull sky in a jagged edge, enclosing them like a cage- was a maiden masked in pure white. She gracefully hovered down the aisle in an elegant ball-gown, her complexion as pale as the snow itself._

 _No one even bothered to spare her a glance; their attention still uncomfortably turned towards him- like he was the only thing that existed in this frosted world._

 _The fair maiden neared the front of the aisle, stopping several feet in front of him, turning to look him dead in the eyes._

 _Her perfectly placed strands of platinum blond cascaded beautify over her shoulders. A pair of lavender eyes as deep as a toxic ocean glowed behind delicate lashes- snow catching on their fine tips. Full pink lips were set in a crisp line, completely void of emotion._

 _Suddenly the silence was disturbed, as the towering man standing before them began to speak._

 _The only thing he caught before his mind erupted into a hurricane of hectic thoughts were five simple words._

 _Five dreaded words._

" _We are gathered here today-"_

 _That's all he needed to hear._

 _Thoughts circled through his head so violently, he thought it would spin clean off his body._

 _All he could do was stare straight ahead at the bride, unblinking, unmoving._

 _ **His**_ _bride._

 _Unspoken words clogged in his throat, yet his body remained eerily still as if stuck in a trance._

 _His world was fuzzy. He couldn't fully grasp what was happening. All he knew, was that he didn't want it to be happening._

 _He was briefly aware of sliding an exquisite silver ring onto one of her slender fingers at the tall man's prompt. He was subconsciously aware of the girl repeating a similar gesture to him._

 _The man leaned closer, speaking loudly to him, making sure he was listening. "Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America." He carefully addressed him. There was something familiar in his voice that the boy couldn't quite place._

" _Do you take Natalya Arlovskaya, the Republic of Belarus, to be your lawful wedded wife, in sickness and heath, in good times and bad, till death do you part?"_

 _Everything was glazed over, trapped in a foggy haze. He could hardly register what was going on. His body hung slack._

 _He barely recognized the numb words as they slipped past his lips. "I do."_

 _The man then proceeded to ask the girl the same question about him, her replying with a similar response._

" _Alright. Then you may kiss the bride."_

 _Suddenly, the hint of an accent grabbed his attention, making him give the man a double-take._

 _A set of smirking violet orbs stared down at him. The man's thick pastel scarf fell from his face to reveal a wide grin. The kind of grin that would make a baby cry._

 _Alfred's mind raced, a jumbled mess of thoughts frantically coming together._

 _ **No.**_

 _He desperately tried to move his body, but remained completely still. It was as if his limbs had been rusted stiffly in place, refusing to budge._

 _An abrupt hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind._

 _His head turned to see a shorter man smiling up at him, emerald eyes shining in palpable joy. His enormous eyebrows were held high in an overwhelming sense of happiness. He was_ _ **much**_ _too happy._

 _What should have been a pleasant moment in his life quickly turned menacing._

 _The once bright white sky turned a gloomy shade of dark grey as the falling snow suddenly morphed into piercing hale._

 _Every white rose in sight- on the ground, in the archway, on his shirt- started to fade into darkness, the tips of their petals turning a jet black, wrinkling in on themselves and dying all at once._

 _Suddenly, tons of other hands began to grab ahold of him from all sides, as if the audience had decided to join in._

 _Forceful fingers clawed at his suit, shoving him forward._

 _He turned his face straight ahead, meeting eyes with the Belarusian poised motionless before him._

 _Her lips abruptly turned downward, utter hurt filling her breathtaking eyes with neglect._

 _He could practically hear his heart cracking inside of his chest._

 _No knives, no games, no tricks- just a broken, unwanted girl._

 _Guests continued to push and tug at him, bringing him ever closer to her. He remained motionless- as stiff as a board- like some greater force was preventing him from struggling._

 _Now, he was only just a foot away from the girl, studying the details of her face, as perfect as a porcelain doll._

 _Nine inches from her- six inches- three-_

 _Suddenly his lips were brushing against hers, the constant flow of hands still pushing insistently at his back._

 _ **Nooooooo!**_

* * *

America's eyes flashed open, waking with a start.

He frantically glanced around, flailing his arms in an attempt to push the bride away.

 _No! Nooo! He can't! He just couldn't!_

Meeting no resistance, he blinked a couple of times, cautiously glancing around to find himself alone on his living room couch. Morning light filled to windows, illuminating the floor beneath them in a warm yellow glow. A new day.

America ran a shaky hand through his hair, taking in a deep breath.

 _It was just a dream. That was all. He wasn't being force-married to a certain lunatic._

But her face had been so devastated. So heartbroken- at the fact that it had taken an entire crowd of angry wedding-goers for him to have given her a dinky little kiss. Despite it being merely a dream, it almost made him feel guilty.

He looked the room over a second time.

 _In fact, where was said lunatic?_

If he recalled correctly, she had fallen asleep on him- despite his failed attempts to remove her- and he had been so exhausted that he had just decided to go with it. Probably not the best idea.

Sitting up on his elbows, Alfred noticed a chilly draft go through the room and held back a shiver.

He looked down at his bare chest to find himself shirtless and bandage free.

Narrowing his brow, Alfred brought his fingertips up to brush the sight of the knife wound she had given him.

He was correct; it had healed right up. The only thing left in its place, was a thin layer of pale scar tissue that would probably fade as time went on.

All wounds faded with time.

But some would never truly disappear.

He brought up a callused hand to touch the diagonal scar stretching across his torso, starting at his right hip, leading all the way up across his abs and chest to reach his left shoulder.

The Civil War.

Man… now _that_ had been a bad one. He had felt like he had completely lost his mind; like he was trapped in some sort of endless battle waged against himself. He had no memory of getting the actual wound itself. He had only recalled waking up strapped to a bed with leather restrains- surprisingly enough to hold him in his weakened state- and the horrified look in Lincoln's eyes as he recounted the gruesome story of how he'd inflicted the injury upon himself. _He'd done it to himself._

It still hurt sometimes… if he thought about it too hard.

He shook his head, clearing away the unwelcome memory _._ That was one experience he'd rather not relive.

But still… What had happened to his bandages?

 _Belarus._

Apparently, that certain lunatic had been quite busy while he had slept in.

Her absence should have been relieving, but he only found it managed to frighten him more.

 _What could she possibly be doing right now?_

He almost didn't want to know.

He reached an arm back, finding Texas, and immediately slid them onto his face- as he did every morning.

He forced himself to get up from the couch, sluggishly rising to his feet with a yawn. He barely had time to take a couple of steps forward before-

"I've been meaning to ask you about that."

Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin. He should have seen that coming.

He cocked his head to the side to catch a glimpse of the Belarusian standing silently behind him. How she had even gotten there, he would never know. _How long had she been in the room with him? Had she ever left?_

A pale hand shot out from around him, reaching up to trace the long scar across his torso.

A soft fingertip absentmindedly guided down its jagged edge.

Alfred jerked his head further around, uncomfortably tensing at her touch.

"It seems quite old. Normally, wounds tend to fade very quickly with our kind. It must have been caused by something of great importance for it to still remain." She murmured, as if trying to solve a mystery.

He bit his lip.

He didn't like where this was going.

Her fingers stopped halfway down the gouge and she unfolded her hand to lay it flat against his chest. He suddenly felt her grasp tighten on him- nails threatening to dig into his flesh.

" _Who did this to you?_ "

The vicious tone in her voice made his blood want to freeze in his veins. She sounded like she would murder the person who had hurt him in such a way.

Man, did this girl have some crazy mood swings. One second she seemed set on killing him, the next, willing to dismember the first person who laid a hand on him.

He bit down on his lip even harder.

 _How was he supposed to explain that?_

He felt the girl's eyes digging holes into the back of his skull, awaiting an answer.

"Uhm…" He stuttered, fidgeting. She was really stepping into some sensitive territory now.

His face wrinkled as he clenched his eyes shut.

" _I-I did._ "

It was so quiet, he questioned whether she had actually heard it or not.

The girl slowly pulled her hand away.

The quiet was killing him. He needed to change the subject before things went any further.

He abruptly raised an arm, visibly starting to sniff himself.

"Oh, man!" He fake laughed, "I really stink! I should totally go and take a shower!"

Well, he hadn't bathed in a while and he actually did smell pretty bad, so his excuse was at least somewhat valid.

He put on a stupid grin and hurried toward the door, leaving the awkward conversation before it could progress.

"Amieryka," A gentle voice halted him mid-step in the doorway.

"You are not the only one who knows pain."

At first, America felt offended. He turned back towards her with an unreadable expression. Obviously he _knew_ that. _Was she implying that the Civil War had meant nothing? To just suck it up and get over it because they all had their own problems?_

Before a scowl could form on his face, the girl began to abruptly roll up her white cuffed sleeves. He stared, narrowing his brow in confusion. He had no idea what he was getting into.

Covering the smooth skin of the Belarusian's upper arms, were countless crisscrossing lacerations. Old scars long since healed over. He might not have ever noticed them had she not pointed them out.

She looked back up at him, thick locks of messy hair falling into her eyes.

"We all have our reminders. You are no different, dy?" Her voice was painfully flat.

America's mouth hung slightly open as he gawked at her in bewilderment. _Since when had she decided to become so open with him?_ Things were happening so fast between them, it was difficult to keep up.

The waves of hair blocking her face made it difficult for him to read her expression.

The American slowly began to approach her. "Belarus? Are you okay?" He asked cautiously, worry creeping into his voice.

The female only held a weak smile- an expression he'd never seen from her before.

"You know, I have never revealed these to anyone before." She paused, dropping her arms stiffly to her sides, lost in thought. The slightest twitch of her lips revealed the inevitable memories surely replaying themselves through her head.

Alfred tentatively reached out a hand, as if handling a wild animal, and lifted her right arm up in front of him. He studied the infinite number of lines marking up the girl's delicate skin- discolored and forgotten- hidden beneath her garments.

She never once pulled back… almost like that was what she had been _waiting_ for him to do.

Then it hit him.

Could she really just be seeking attention? Sure, being from Ivan's, she had probably been starved of attention for a good portion of her life. It struck him how much he really didn't know about her. About her life or her history, her family…

What else was there that he didn't know about this girl? Belarus seemed to be turning into an even bigger mystery every time he saw her. He didn't want to admit it, but part of him wanted to be the one to solve it. To understand what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.

He ran a thumb over one particular gash, deeper and more pronounced than the rest.

"W-what... what happened?" He questioned unsurely.

He couldn't help but feel that she _wanted_ to talk about it. That she wanted to finally get it off of her chest- just let it all out. Who knew how many years she had been locked up alone, forced to conceal her emotions. She wanted to talk to someone, and apparently she had felt comfortable enough for it to have been him.

The girl hung her head. Her downcast face draped in a curtain of platinum blond. Her withered bow seemed to droop forward with her dread.

" _G-Germany._ He overwhelmed my lands during the Second World War, t-there was nothing I could do about it. I-I was put into a camp. _My people_ … were put into camps."

He could feel her thin little arm beginning to shiver in his grasp.

"A _quarter_ of my entire population was _murdered_. Their lives discarded like they meant _absolutely nothing_. I was no more than merely a martyr between the Germans and the Russians." Her voiced cracked painfully as she spoke.

Alfred gave her a look of pure concern.

"I-I'm so sorry… Natalya…" There was nothing else he could think to say. This seemed like the first time she had ever openly discussed what had happened with someone. It would be a lie to say he didn't feel bad. He felt absolutely horrible. This girl was broken.

He flinched as a sudden pair of frail arms wrapped themselves around him.

He stared down at the other nation's head resting beneath his chin, feeling his cheeks turn a light pink.

He frowned, giving her back a reassuring pat in an attempt to comfort her. "It's all in the past, Natalya. Just like my Civil War… But, we got through it… didn't we? Things got better, and they'll only continue to improve. _I'm sure of it!_ " He smiled down at her, her face still nuzzled against his bare chest. Against his scar. Against the very scar that had threatened to split him in two.

She didn't move, other than the slightest tremble of her shoulders. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he felt a few beads of warm liquid drip down his skin and the fluttering of her lashes.

He barely caught a weak whisper, feeling her lips move against his chest. " _Thank you._ " He almost thought he had imagined it. Maybe he had.

Then he had an interesting thought.

 _Could she only be gravitating towards him because he was the only one who would listen?_

With the moment over, the girl quickly released him, pulling away. There was no evidence that she had been crying as she carefully rolled her puffy sleeves back down neatly over her wrists.

"Like I said before, I'm always here if you need someone to talk to. That's what friends are for after all!" America tried his best to reassure her with a weary smirk.

Not that Alfred wanted to spend any more time with her than he had to. The truth was, he didn't mind being around Belarus so much if she acted this sane half of the time. Maybe behind that crazy mask of hers, she really was a nice person… and America wanted to bring that person out. He wanted to see more of them.

The girl remained as unreadable as ever, her attention cast downward, as if she was unsure of how to act. Maybe she just needed a moment.

"Hey, so I'm gonna go get cleaned up, kay?" He nodded at her, "If you want to go refresh yourself, there's another bathroom at the end of the hall you can use."

"…"

"If you want, I could get you another change of clothes… Maybe if I got a pair of my-"

She gave her head a ruff shake before he could finish.

"Alright, I shouldn't be too long then." He said, staring at her a moment before hesitantly turning out the door to leave.

Honestly, he still didn't like the idea of leaving her inside of his house for too long unsupervised… But, he supposed that if she had really wanted to wreck the place, she would have done it already. Heck, nothing could compare to the mess Tony made when he threw his crazy alien parties. Although he had to admit, Tony did know how to throw one epic party, the aftermath usually involved days of cleaning at a time.

As he walked down the hall to one of his guest bathrooms- the one up-stairs was shot, the door ripped from its hinges during yesterday's tussle- he heard the soft clicks of Natalya's shoes as she followed after him like an abandoned puppy.

The bathroom he had told her to use was just at the end of the hall- which would explain why she was tailing him- but it only surprised him further when her footsteps abruptly stopped along with his own as he halted in front of the bathroom door.

He glanced back at her, suspiciously.

She waited patiently behind him, insistently looking up at him with that vacant stare she always wore.

"Uhh… you can use the restroom right down there." He pointed a finger down to the end of the hall.

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Uh, you know you can't come in here with me… right?"

A blank stare.

"Okaaay, then. Hahaha…" He let out a nervous laugh before quickly shutting the door between them. He immediately bolted it shut with a little latch- badly wishing there were more. He waited several more moments in the hopes that she would finally walk away, only to be disappointed.

When he was only perused by an eerie silence, he quietly bent down, peering out from the crack under the door.

The fronts of two worn, black dress shoes stared back at him.

 _Was she just going to stand outside the whole time? Hahaha, that totally wasn't creepy at all…_

Silently rising to his feet, he decided to just continue on with his business, hoping that the girl didn't suddenly tear down the door in another psychotic episode while he was in there. _That would be awkward…_

He took a deep breath, reaching down to turn on the hot water.

 _Man, how did he ever get himself into this?_

* * *

As soon as he stepped foot outside of the tub, he already encountered a new problem.

 _Uhhhgggg! Why did he have to be such an idiot all of the time?!_

Clothes.

One. Simple. Little. Thing.

Stupid Belarus, distracting him like that.

He slouched forward with an irritated groan, his sopping wet bangs dripping water down his face. He didn't want to put his old clothes back on again. They were all sweaty and disgusting and would only end up dirtying him all over again.

 _Well, here goes nothing…_

He forcibly yanked a cream colored towel off a rack, and after thoroughly drying himself with it, carefully wrapped it around his waist as tightly as he possibly could.

 _Please don't still be standing there when I walk out. Please don't still be out there._

He slowly opened the door, as softly as possible.

Thankfully, he was met with an empty hallway.

 _Thank goodness…_ He let out a sigh of relief, stepping out of the door, a light steam flowing out of the door after him.

He cautiously navigated the hallway, following it to the main staircase and hurriedly ascended it to the second floor- where his bedroom would be, and hopefully a fresh change of clothes.

As he reached the top, he worriedly glanced back down at the empty stairwell.

No Belarus in sight. So far, so good.

He sped down another long hallway and finally saw the open door of his bedroom- colorfully decorated with an assortment of old WWII posters.

After finding the room to be empty, he rushed inside, releasing another built up sigh. _Whoo… Close one, Alfie. That had been a close one. But of course, with you being the awesome hero that you are, you were totally able to get through it!_

Gaining an air of confidence, Alfred pranced over to one of his dressers and started rummaging through the drawers for a new set of clothes to pull on.

As he pulled out one of his favorite T-shirts, he abruptly stopped at his underwear drawer, noticing something very odd. Something seemed… _different_ …

 _What the-_

 _Oh, it was horrible! Simply horrible! His sloppy piles of old clothes… they were- they were…_ _ **organized!**_

His undergarments were neatly folded in crisp even stacks- Heck, Them things even looked like they had been ironed and everything! His room was _never_ this clean! …Except, maybe save for that one time Britain had come to visit him and decided to tidy the place up because he had gotten, _"sick and tired of looking at all of your crap!"_ … Or at least that's how he had put it.

But, even _Britain_ would never dare touch his underwear drawer.

America raised an eyebrow, utterly perplexed- and slightly disturbed.

He had this uneasy feeling that-

"Does it please you?"

America nearly had a heart attack. He gasped as he jerked forward, grabbing his towel before it could slip off.

Again. Should have seen that one coming.

Alfred spun around to face the invasive girl, startled and cheeks turning a beet red; his damp fringe fell forward into his eyes.

He was at a loss for words… again.

 _Of course she had done it. Just… he wasn't in the shower for that long… how had she managed to have had enough time, not only to iron his clothes, but to fold them and put them back as well?!_

The girl looked as nonplused as ever, not even seeming to notice his half-naked, dripping wet state.

Well… He supposed she meant well, and what she had done was very thoughtful- in a kind of creepy way- but what was he supposed do? Yell at her? He surely didn't want to anger her…

"Oh, yeah!" He choked out hoarsely, trying to hide his agitation. "How kind of you! T-thanks, Natalya!" He let out an anxious chuckle; it seemed like that was all he ever did now-a-days.

He walked over to her, holding the towel even tighter to him than before, desperately trying to usher her out of the door. "Haha! Now if you could just excuse me for a moment, I'll be right out!"

As soon as he got her out he slammed the door shut, reluctant to let go of the handle. Only after he heard her light footsteps as they tapped down the hallway, did he released the door, slouching tiredly against his bed for support.

He glanced over at the freshly fluffed pillows and wrinkle-free sheets pulled neatly up over it.

 _She had even made his bed for him too?!_

 _What else had this chick done?!_

* * *

He trotted down the staircase, straightening the wrinkles in his shirt as he reached the bottom.

Now equipped with his vintage Star Wars T-shirt and an old pair of blue jeans, he could safely navigate his house in search of the Belarusian without fear of embarrassment. Well, calling it _safe_ might have been a stretch.

He stalked into his living room, cocking his head around to look through the doorway leading to the dining room.

"Belarus?"

He was about to enter the kitchen when he was taken aback by what he saw.

Dang! He hadn't seen his kitchen that clean since… _since ever!_

The mess he had made the other day was completely gone. All of the cooking equipment had been washed and dried, put back into their orderly places. _How the heck did the girl even know where all of his stuff went?!_

Even the tile floor looked so sparkling clean that he could practically eat off of it!

I mean, sure, this was nice… But, there was just something unsettling about the fact that the Belarusian felt that she had the right to intrude in his home and meddle with all of his belongings without permission. It was kind of nosy… but how could he argue with a kitchen as spotless as that?!

"Darahaja Amieryka,"

He whirled around in surprise.

"Man, you have got to stop doing that!" He exclaimed- maybe a little louder than he had intended- exasperatedly running a hand through his blond locks.

The girl widened her violet orbs at the boy's outburst.

"I-I mean…" Alfred quickly backtracked, trying to make up for the explosion. "N-Natalya, you cleaned up the kitchen?"

She gave a curt nod.

"Dy. You are a _svinnia._ " She replied harshly.

"Wha-?"

"Amieryka, are we 'friends'?" She interrupted in an urgent tone.

"Huh-? Uh, y-yeah, I guess." Alfred stuttered, confused at the sudden question.

He was met with a devious grin, purple irises flashing mischievously at him.

 _Crap, what did he just say? He didn't like that look…_

Suddenly, she took a step forward, closing the gap between them and taking his hands in hers.

Alfred's face contorted into a look of utter bewilderment, bashfully looking down at their enlaced fingers.

 _W-what the heck was going on? Did he miss something?_

He felt his face heat up as she continued to marvel at him.

"We are friends." She stated matter-of-factly, "You said that we could get married after we became, the 'friends', correct?"

"Uhhhhh…" America stammered, searching for the right words. _That's not exactly what he had meant… But, he had to admit, her ignorance to simple things and the way she spoke English with her little accent was kind of cute…_

Her smile widened and she removed one of her hands from his own to reach behind her.

Alfred tightened, fearing the worst. Now there was only one of two things she could be getting. A knife… or-

Out came the dreaded sheet of paper, threatening to sentence him to a lifetime of insanity- the 'Marriage Registration Form'.

 _Well, crap. Things were going so well._

"Hehe… well… you see…" He could see the look shifting on her face and he felt her fingers begin to twitch. Not good.

 _Think of something, Alfred, quick! He was hungry- and was hard for him to think on an empty stomach! …Hey, wait a minute... Lightbulb! If he was gonna play this, then he might as well milk it…_

"There's still one thing left to do that _everybody_ has to do before they can get married!" He countered with a little smirk. _Time to use her ignorance against her;_ _he could feel bad about it later…_

This caught the girl's attention, she stared at him unknowingly, hands tightening around his.

"Yeah! Before you can get married, you have to go out on at least _one_ date first! Right?"

She seemed to understand and slowly nodded up at him, trying to comprehend what he was suggesting.

"So… uh, just hop in my truck and we can go on one right now if you'd like!"

* * *

And that was how Alfred ended up prying the girl off of him and leading her into the garage instead.

He opened a creaking door off to the side of the house, and reached around the corner to flip on a light switch.

The yellow bulb flickered on, revealing an enormous garage filled with stacks of ancient tools, blueprints, and countless inventions he had been set on building, along with some of his old cars. This place was almost as cluttered as his storage room- which was really saying something.

He used to work in this room all of the time- but as of late, it seemed that all of his time had been consumed by endless meetings and conferences… He missed the good old days when he wasn't so busy and his boss wasn't always nagging on him.

"Ah!" Alfred breathed in the stuffy air, reeking of dust and wood shavings, putting his hands on his hips to admire the room.

Belarus cautiously filed in behind the man, carefully stepping around a few misplaced buckets of rusty bolts.

America walked over- not being able to help himself- and picked up a rusty plane propeller, reminiscing about how excited he had been when he had first attempted to help the Wright Brothers create one of their first famous flying machines.

He saw a beat up wooden barrel sitting nearby, overflowing with a collection of paper rolls, forcefully crammed in and protruding wildly from the top. He gingerly pulled one out, unraveling it and reading an old plan he had written to construct some type of go-cart.

"I've had this mansion for a _long_ time." He began, caught in the moment. "Originally, it didn't have a garage of course… but, when motor vehicles started to gain popularity, I decided to make one for myself. It's been hard to tear me outa here ever since…" He let out a small chuckle, placing the scroll gently back in its place.

He heard the Belarusian walk up beside him, giving him an impatient glance, clearly uninterested. It seemed like all she wanted to do was to just hurry up and get this whole 'date' thing over-with so they could just 'become one' already. _Well, at least he knew where her priorities laid._

His eyes landed on an old shotgun, strewn haphazardly across a work bench, coated in a fine layer of grime. An old-fashioned cowboy hat hung crooked from a nail in the wall, just above it.

He quickly forced a grin at her, leading her away before she could notice it. The last thing he needed was for the Belarusian to get her hands on a shotgun.

He was about to lead her over to his truck, when he noticed another vehicle sitting idly behind it, concealed by a white sheet.

"Ah, man!" Alfred suddenly found himself running over to it, "Thunder!"

Belarus wandered up behind him, unsurely.

America grabbed the sheet, quickly pulling it off, filling the air with a cloud of dust.

He coughed, waving the dust away and putting his other hand on the car to pat its hood. It must have been a slick and stylish model back in its day, but time had reduced the vehicle to a faded black antique.

"This, Bel," The boy presented proudly as he began to stroke one of its headlights affectionately, "is my 1955 Thunderbird! Ain't she a real beauty?"

Belarus raised a brow at the nick-name, eyeing the vehicle unamused.

"Oh, she still runs! But, she's more of a collector's item now-a-days." He explained arrogantly.

He gave it one last pat before he pulled the dusty cover back over it, wiping his hands on his jeans and walking forward to a different vehicle.

"But today, we have the luxury of taking Ol' Betsy out for a spin!" He moved along the side of an old beater truck, royal blue with a white stripe running along its side, the word 'Ford' printed on a silver emblem.

"She might be old, but she's a fighter!" He proclaimed, beating a fist on one of its dented doors.

He grabbed a pair of keys off a nearby hook and unlocked the passenger door, motioning for Natalya to enter. "Get on in!"

Alfred helped the female carefully into her seat, politely closing the door after her. Then he walked around to the driver's side, unlocking it and brutishly leaping in, slamming the door behind him.

As he took out a remote control to open the garage with, he loudly started up the engine and it roared to life. "Listen to her purr! She's still as good as new!"

Belarus narrowed her brow, giving him a muddled stare. She looked conflicted, as if she was debating about whether to ask him a question or not.

"America," She started. He glanced at her, mildly surprised to hear himself addressed by his English name. "How is your motorized vehicle a female?"

"Huh?"

' _Ol' Betsy!' 'Listen to her purr! She's still as good as new!'_

"…Oh."

 _Great, more explaining…_

* * *

If the Belarusian had learned one thing through all of this, it was that Westerners were strange.

But that didn't change the fact that she was going to marry one.

After all, _strange_ , was better than _Ivan_.

America had proven to be exactly what she had been hoping for. Kind, sensitive, fun-loving- although she debated whether the odd games he played with her were actually fun or not, for the most part she didn't understand them a bit.

 _And this morning._

After seeing that gruesome scar embedded in the American's chest, it had finally hit her. She wasn't the only country who had gotten hurt… who had been horribly mistreated and forced into conflict. I mean, sure, she obviously knew that she couldn't be the only one, but seeing it painted out for her on Alfred's body like that had been a real wake-up call.

What really got to her, though, was that even through all of his suffering, the boy had somehow managed to push through with his optimistic spirit still intact.

And his reluctance to talk about the scar had only proved to her that even the strongest nations among them weren't invincible; that even they felt pain. As much as it might have seemed that way, Alfred's past hadn't been sugar-coated. It almost gave her a greater respect for the man, if she could even call it that. Maybe one day, he could help give her the strength and resilience to move on as well.

Her past had more of a grip on her than she would've liked to admit.

Deep inside of her heart, she had almost felt that that healing process had begun today- as soon as she had felt America's warm arms comforting her, murmuring reassuring words in her ear.

She had always wanted someone to hold her like that. To talk to her like that, and most of all… _to just simply listen._

This realization had only sped up the longing to be wed to him right away, diminishing any ounce of patience left.

She had even cleaned the man's entire dirt-ridden house, in hopes of impressing him before she had sprung the question again. _Oh, what question? There wasn't a question. They were going to become one, and that was final. It had always been._

The only thing stopping her now, was the obvious cultural difference between them.

Her point was only confirmed as the American promptly rolled down his windows, turned up the radio to as loud as possible, and began incessantly singing along to the lyrics of a boisterous country song she could only describe as being, incredibly 'Southern'.

The crazy ruckus of guitars and fiddles pounded in her ears so deafeningly, she couldn't even hear herself think. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, rubbing her hands together uncomfortably.

Alfred, completely oblivious to her distress, continued to sing- or more accurately, obnoxiously yell- like a howling coyote, dancing around as he drove past a dazzling Virginian countryside. As they went along and the songs changed, she couldn't help but notice a recurring theme: Girls, guns, trucks, and beer. _Was that all Americans thought about?_ Well, that would explain a lot.

Although most of his so-called _'singing'_ was the equivalent to scratching your nails on a chalk board, she noticed that when the boy actually _tried_ , his words came out in a beautiful serenade, tinted with the faint edge of a southern twang.

She couldn't help but find it oddly _appealing._

* * *

As they finally came out of the countryside and onto the paved roads of a city, Alfred decided from the wide-eyed look on Natalya's pale face that it might be time to turn down the music. The sudden introduction to quality country music might have proved to be a little too overwhelming for a foreigner to handle.

If she thought that was bad, she should have seen how he drove through Texas.

 _Oh, the cops hated him._

He acted like he owned the place. _Well, he kind of did…_

The smug look on his face was palpable as they abruptly pulled into a crowded McDonald's parking lot.

Not only had he scored himself a meal, but he had also avoided another shanking in the process. Pretty good deal in his opinion.

The Belarusian spared him a questioning glance, yet exited the truck without a problem.

Alfred led her inside, inhaling the wonderful, artery-clogging stench of American fast food.

He stepped into line, waiting a few minutes before arriving at the cash register.

"What up, Shayla?" America cheerfully greeted the cashier, a young short haired lady who only smiled back at him in return.

"Hello, Alfred." She greeted, "The usual?"

"Yep! …Oh, yeah-" He laid a hand on Belarus' back, bringing her forward a little for the cashier to see. "Except this time, throw in a plain hamburger and small coke as well!"

The cashier eyed Belarus with interest, shooting America a suggestive look as if to say, _"Who's your girlfriend?"_

Alfred only let out a little laugh, blushing, and gave Natalya a nervous look. He didn't want to just flat out deny any relationship at all, or else he would give himself away and he was sure Belarus wouldn't hesitate to make a scene. So instead, he just grinned up at his citizen, trying to act as indifferently as possible.

Thankfully, she let it go, quickly giving them their meal without incident- hence the term fast-food- and he found them an empty booth to sit at.

Belarus sat down hesitantly- as if merely touching the seat would give her diseases- and tucked her hands tightly into her lap. Alfred laid out their food in front of them, passing her a burger and small coke.

She stared at the food, partially horrified and partially disgusted.

Without waiting, America immediately began to stuff his face.

Belarus looked up at him concerned, "Is this what Americans normally refer to as a-a 'date'?"

Alfred paused a moment, wiping his chin. "Uhh… Y-yeah!" He stuttered, promptly continuing to munch on his hamburger. He watched as she stared at her food uncertainly.

"Come on, try it!" He nudged, speaking with his mouth full of food.

The girl slowly reached out to tentatively unwrap the sandwich and awkwardly held it in-between her slender fingers. She could practically feel the grease dripping down her hands already.

Very hesitantly, she took a small bite, chewing thoroughly.

America looked at her expectantly, taking a swig from his large drink.

"It is… tolerable." She finally commented.

America flashed her a thumbs up before taking another bite from his own burger.

Long minutes passed and Alfred soon realized that he was down to his last quarter-pounder.

Any time now, they would finish… and then what? _Would she force him to sign right then and there? He hadn't thought this through enough…_

Finally coming up with a characteristically stupid idea, Alfred grabbed a ketchup packet, removing the top bun from his last burger, pretending to add the condiment to it.

However, this time, he purposefully ripped it open as violently as possible, succeeding in splattering the substance all the way across the table and onto the top of the female's lacey white dress collar- just below her little ribbon.

Belarus gave him an irritated scowl. Surprisingly, she didn't seem angry, only flustered. But, before any pain could be inflicted on him, he interrupted.

"O-oh my gosh! I'm so sorry about that, Natalya!" He choked out, trying to gather as much sincerity as he could muster. Natalya immediately picked up a napkin from the table to clean herself with.

"Hey, why don't you go wash it off in the bathroom?"

She spared him a questioning glance.

"Yeah, it might stain! …It's just right over there." Alfred motioned over his shoulder, drink in hand.

Reluctantly, the girl rose from her seat, smoothing out her gown. She walked over to Alfred expectantly, grabbing ahold of his hand, tugging on him.

America gave her a weird look, raising an eyebrow. "Umm, alright… I guess I can come, but I'll have to wait outside…"

The girl didn't spare him another look as she insistently pulled him to his feet. Alfred barely had time to set his coke down before he was led away from the table.

They got to the girls bathroom and Belarus began to open the door, her grip around his hand not loosening. He really hoped she didn't notice the nervous sweat breaking out on his face for what he was about to do.

Alfred tried to casually glance around, and after a moment, the girl reluctantly let go of him, staring at him the whole while as the door slowly closed behind her.

As soon as the door had clicked shut, America frantically looked around not even bothering to grab his meal as his feet desperately began to carry him towards the exit.

 _As much as it pained him to do this to her, his own personal wellbeing meant more to him at the moment…_

Knowing Belarus, she would probably be in that bathroom for as little amount of time as possible. She didn't even want to take her sight off of him, let alone go into a different room… _It was almost like she already knew he would pull something like this…_

Feeling a horrible pang of guilt, Alfred only ran even faster. He had to keep reminding himself that this could turn into a life threatening situation, this wasn't just about some girl. Oh, Belarus was _anything but_ just some girl.

Just as he turned his head back to get a look at the door, he bumped right into something- _or someone._

Still caught in a moment of panic, Alfred barely mumbled an apology to the person as he clumsily sprinted out the door, be-lining across the busy parking lot straight to his old Ford. _Ol' Betsy, you're a life saver!_

As soon as he got in and started the vehicle up, the sight of someone furiously bursting through the front doors in his rearview mirror made his stomach drop. _Oh, if he was caught now, there was_ _ **no way**_ _she'd let him make it out of this alive._

He shoved the gear into reverse so hard, he nearly broke it. His foot stomped on the gas.

He couldn't stand to look back as he hightailed it out onto the main road.

He just couldn't bare to see the look on her face. If it looked anything like it had in that dream, he would rather just spare his heart the pain.

He was _definitely_ going over the speed limit.

* * *

As soon as Alfred pulled out of the parking lot, the whole restaurant fell into chaos.

The Belarusian stood eerily still at the doors, still clutching the doorknob. The object was effortlessly ripped from its place and sent sailing recklessly across the establishment.

Civilians stared in shock as the item narrowly missed one man's head.

The door was violently slammed shut- shaking the building- and the girl stormed inside, fighting to even her breaths. She locked her target onto a small billboard advertising, 'Happy Meal Toys' and suddenly the poor sign was shredded into pieces, strewn across the floor.

Surprised Americans gave her dirty looks as they gorged themselves on the greasy slob they dared to call 'food'.

They were _America's_ citizens…

 _Alfred's…_

 _They would pay dearly for their nation's insolence._

 _Every single last revolting one of them._

 _She would murder all of them… and after they were disposed of… America would be next._

 _SHE WOULD SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!_

Just as a deranged grin started to sprout on her lips and her hands reached down to contract a set of blood thirsty blades, an unbearable emotion overcame her.

 _S-she didn't understand…_

Her arms fell slack.

Before she knew it, the establishment's manager came over, cautiously nearing her like she was a rabid animal. Even he looked scared.

The Belarusian let out a straggled noise- catching everyone completely off guard- and before she knew it, the sound morphed into a cry, and that cry escalated into a heart-wrenching sob.

She abruptly fell to her knees- sending the manager reeling- her dress flowing out around her crumpled body.

An uncontrollable sob emitted from her lips and she found herself crying… crying on the floor of a filthy McDonalds.

 _What was wrong with her? She was stronger than this!_ _ **She would destroy every ignorant human here!**_

But, even through her infuriation, she couldn't help the tears beading down her face.

 _N-no._

 _Not_ _ **him**_ _too._

 _She had been betrayed._

 _Again._

 _She had been so sure that he would have been better than Ivan… She thought that he would be different… S-she should have known…_

The aching girl buried her head into her shaking hands and started to rock back and forth.

 _W-was she impossible to love?_

Suddenly, a gentle hand on her shoulder startled her.

She slowly looked up, hope glazing her violet eyes. "A-Ameri-" Her brow tightened.

Above her stood an elderly woman, cheeks sagging and eyes sunken, grey hair pulled back into a tight bun.

"Are you alright, dear?" There was no malice in her voice. Only concern.

The girl started at her wrinkled hand uncertainly, tears welling in her abnormally purple eyes.

Carefully, the woman helped her up to her feet, letting her sit down to compose herself at a nearby table- It just so happened to be the same table America and her had sat at earlier, as their food was still there.

The old lady took an attentive seat across from her, straddling her purse in her lap.

Natalya cast her gaze downward, sheepishly wiping a stray tear away.

She noticed that the McDonald's management had seemed to back off of her for now, too scared to get involved.

The woman's eyes were only full of kindness as she asked, "What's wrong, hun?"

The girl didn't look up. _Stupid American. Go away._ She wanted to scream it at her, but something was stopping her. _She was just being so nice… but so had America…_

"It doesn't happen to have anything to do with that rude young man who just ran out of here with the wacky hair piece, does it?"

Natalya finally inclined her head, peering strangely up at her, still sniffling.

"Oh, I see." The elderly woman started, straightening in her chair, "I figured as much."

She looked seriously over to the nation, as if to give her a piece of advice. "He's not worth it, sweetie. Any man willing to knock over an old woman like me without giving a second glance doesn't deserve a pretty young girl like you. You could do better than him."

Belarus' puffy red eyes widened, incredulously looking at the woman.

 _B-but… he was_ _ **'better'**_ _… or so she had thought._

The way that this American had just waltzed in here and pretended like she had known everything about her life was extremely riling. _She didn't know her. She didn't have a clue. She had no idea who she was even talking to._

Instead of having an outburst, the girl let out another choked sob, dipping her head down as she contorted her face in anguish.

"We are getting married." She muttered painfully.

The woman's sunken blue eyes widened a little in surprise- both for the girl's strange accent and for what she had said.

"Oh." She plainly stated, licking her chap lips a bit. She thought the young lady looked a little _too_ 'young' to be getting married so soon… but no matter.

That wasn't the only thing she found odd about the girl. Her outfit was also quite unusual, she looked like a living doll. _But, who knew with kids these days…_

"Oh, honey." The elderly lady placed a comforting hand over one of Natalya's.

Natalya's face wrinkled unsurely, eyeing the woman, before she was once again overwhelmed by her sorrow.

"W-why doesn't he love me?" She whimpered sadly.

The woman squeezed her hand in a soothing gesture.

"It'll be alright, dear. I'm sure someday he'll realize how much he loves you… It'll be like-" She looked around for a moment, struggling to find the right word. "-Magic!" She piped up, giving her a warm smile.

Belarus' eyes enlarged in wonder. " _M-magic?_ " She repeated, intrigued.

Yes.

 _ **Magic.**_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Chapter six is finally here! :D**

 **I'm so sorry for the wait, but I did say I would be taking longer. This chapter particularly involved a little more research, as I attempted to cross into some Historical territory! But, I kind of like it better this way because it gives me more time to focus on other things like school work and not feel rushed.**

 **As for the history bit, I'm assuming you all have a general idea of what the American Civil War was about? No? Well, basically the country was split into two halves, the North(the Union) and the South(the Confederacy) in a dispute over slavery and it ended up turning into a bloody mess. If you wish to have a better explanation, you should probably go look it up. (Lincoln was the president at that time, so that's why I mentioned him!)**

 **Now, as for Belarus… let's just say she's had a real bad time. Not only were thousands of her people murdered in mass killings in Poland, but during World War II, her country was put under German occupation and a quarter of its population was killed, many of them in concentration camps. :'( This really took a serious toll on their country…**

 **Anyway, on to other things!**

 **Man, that sweet old lady has no idea what she's done. Never talk to Belarus metaphorically, kids! ;) And if you were wondering, yes, I do like country music. : D**

 **Chapter 6 Translations:** **(Provided by yours truly, Google Translate!)**

 _ **Dy**_ **\- Yes (Belarusian)**

 _ **Darahaja Amieryka**_ **\- Dear/Darling America (Belarusian)**

 _ **Svinnia**_ **\- Swine/Pig (Belarusian)**

 **Well, I think that's about it! Sorry for any mistakes, it's kind of late and I'm just trying to get this up because I kind of feel bad! ^.^" I'll go back and edit it some more later if I find something wrong.**

 **I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Thank you good people for all of your support! It means a lot! Bye for now!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred breathed in the comforting smell of the White House, gently closing the heavy door behind him with care.

He panted a moment, cooling down in the air-conditioning and leaning heavily against the door's hard mahogany surface.

He knew it wasn't only the physical strain that was exhausting him, but the piercing guilt stabbing away at his heart.

The hour it had taken to drive to the capital hadn't been so bad. It was hard to dwell on his remorseful thoughts with his favorite songs blasting on the radio and the faces of his happy citizens rolling by out the window. That didn't mean he didn't have enough sense to periodically spare a glance up at his rearview mirror, though- just waiting for that pale doll-face of hers to be gaining on him, knives sharpened and ready to chop him to pieces.

From there, it had only taken a long sixty minutes or so and he had crossed the border into D.C., fleeing to the safest place he could possibly think of.

Yep. The White House.

You couldn't blame him though. With the unbelievable amount of security that one single building had, it was hard to think of a safer place to be; but serving as the home of the President of the United States and all, the high security was to be expected and for good measure.

Luckily, many of the guards there already knew of Alfred's true identity and were very familiar with his presence. For the suspicious few, he need only to flash his high-ranking official badge at them and they would allow him to enter without question. Although, they would sometimes shoot suspicious looks at his choice of wardrobe.

During his non-formal visits, to any old regular human he looked like some random teenager in a pair of denims and nerdy T-Shirt waltzing in to the President's home like he owned the place… But the White House was like a second home to him. It had been for almost as long as I'd been built. Well… the second one that was… He liked to think of it as his _real_ home. A place where he had a family of sorts with people who he could just be real with. It was nice not trying to hide all of the time. Here, he could just be himself.

What? There was no way he was heading back to his mansion just yet! That would have been _way_ too obvious. He figured he would just wait out the girl's fury here for a while until he was in the clear.

After a few moments of rest, clicking nails pranced down the hall toward him and before he knew it, two overjoyed Portuguese Water Dogs came bounding up to him.

America couldn't help but smile at them. No matter what he was feeling inside, he always had a softness for animals.

He knelt down as they paced around him, nosing him with their coal black snouts, tails thumping excitedly.

"Hey, Bo." Alfred whispered to the first fluffy black canine, rubbing its white clad belly affectionately.

As he did so, the newest edition to the family lifted its bushy head to lick the tip of the boy's nose, seeking attention.

America had to hold back a childish giggle, "Oh, Sunny!" Alfred quietly laughed- not wanting to disturb anyone else inside- as he reached over to scratch behind the second dog's floppy ears.

He slowly rose to his feet and trod down the hall- dogs following close behind- studying the selection of familiar paintings obscuring the walls and regal carpeting lining his path.

He encountered no one as he reached the dwelling's living room, following the sounds of a chattering television. Alfred rounded a corner and peeked inside the doorway.

A teenage girl laid comfortably on a couch, sprawled out on her stomach as she studied a magazine- a horribly expensive flat screened TV flashed with the News in front of her, but she paid little attention to it.

Malia Obama. The Presidents oldest daughter and one of Alfred's best friends.

Hearing America enter, she flicked her head up, dark hair bouncing. Her eyes held no surprise as they registered his presence and took him in. As quickly as she looked up, her eyes drifted back down to her business.

Alfred promptly walked in, collapsing wearily onto the bulky couch next to her. The piece of furniture was surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the house, but comfy nonetheless.

He simply laid there for a moment to breathe. The girl waited a few seconds before interrupting him.

"Hi, Al." She called to him, not removing her eyes from the page. "You know Dad's not home, right?"

When he made no move to respond, she curiously turned her head up to glance at him again. "What happened to you?"

America raised his head, weakly opening his eyes from his wondrous moment of peace. "Hm?"

He blinked a few times, finally registering her question. He waved a hand at her dismissively. "Oh, nothing, _sis_." He mumbled jokingly, trying to force a tired grin.

The teen lowered her magazine, her huge dark irises giving him a skeptical look. "You look a wreck." She chided with amusement.

Alfred only sighed.

Suddenly, she gained an air of seriousness. "And I know for a fact that that smile's a fake. What's wrong?"

Alfred only stared tiredly at her stark features. Man, she looked so much like her mother sometimes.

"How come you look so down, Alfred? Is it because of the economy again?" She frowned in concern, recalling the last time Alfred's economy had taken a turn for the worst, leaving the boy shaking in bed, occasionally jumping up to run to the toilet to vomit.

" _Oh, no!_ No… Nothing like that." He assured, sitting up straighter to demonstrate. "I'm fine."

"Well, there's clearly something up. You've been in here for nearly five minutes and you haven't even broken anything yet." She teased with a slight smirk, remembering all of the instances where Alfred's clumsy-self had strode into the room blabbering excitedly, only to knock over some expensive picture frame and be forced to sit through a full out lecture from Mom about how he needed to be more careful. After a while, it had become a kind of running joke between them.

"Hey, that was _one_ time!"

"Three. Three times. _At least_."

"Oh, be quiet! They were all accidents, and you know it- and I thought we decided that we weren't going to count that fancy vase anymore! It was sitting way to close to the edge to-!"

The girl's giggles cut through the oncoming rant. "Alfred, really. Come on, you can tell me! _Is it about a girl?_ " She added exasperatedly, in a teasing manner.

Alfred's eyes widened a bit at that, and he leaned down to rest his face in his hand, glancing around nervously through his fingers. "Man, was it really that obvious?" He mumbled.

The teen eyed him carefully, looking for any signs that this was one of his dimwitted pranks.

"…"

"Wait… _it is_?!" She squawked unbelievably, instantly gaining interest in the situation.

America ran a hand across his reddening face- making his blue eyes stand out even more in contrast as they darted across the room nervously.

At this point, the girl practically chucked the magazine across the room, restless legs swinging impatiently behind her as she stretched out on her stomach. She rested her chin in her arms, looking up at Alfred with a mischievous smirk. "Tell me _everything_."

Alfred sighed once more, looking at the expectant teenager, slowly running out of options.

"Okay, okay, Malia…" He finally gave in, "J-Just, please...try not to mention it to Dad, alright?"

* * *

Alfred liked Malia. And it was for that reason why he spared her the insanity of hearing the truth.

He, Malia, and her little sister, Sasha, could have a lot of fun together. He couldn't help but feel a strange connection with the eager teen. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they shared a birthday or that they were around the same age- well, the boy's _apparent age_ that was. Or maybe it was because she kind of reminded him of himself when he was younger…

The point being, he treasured his proclaimed sister a little _too much_ to allow her to become sucked into the complicated predicament that came along with the intermixing of personified-nations and romance. Well… more accurately, just Belarus in general.

He didn't need that maniac hunting Malia down for some reason or another just because of something he'd shared with her. That, and he didn't really want the teen to get too caught up in his personal business. He had this horrible feeling that Malia would just start screaming about how she, "Totally ships it!" – whatever that meant – and try everything in her power to make it a million times worse.

That's why America was sure to narrow the story down to, "There's just some random girl who _really_ likes me and I just don't know what to do about it." Of course this vague answer hadn't pleased Malia who was obviously looking for some juicy details, and he was forced to dodge questions to avoid straight up lying to her.

Thankfully, after an hour of relentless questioning and little spilling, she gave up and they moved on to better things. Like playing Frisbee on the White House lawn with Bo and Sunny.

Later on, after a few hours of goofing off, Mr. President, or more commonly known as 'Dad' in the household, arrived home from some meeting he had been on out of state and had invited Al to have dinner with them as part of the 'Presidential Family' again. He was happy to join them and luckily Malia kept her trap shut about the _'mysterious girl'_ the entire time, although he could see the knowing look in Sasha's eyes that the gossip had already reached her ears.

Not wanting to be a burden, Alfred said his goodbyes and slipped away after supper.

It was getting late and he wanted to make it home before dark. He didn't want to risk being there just in case one of his sisters slipped up and Barack found out about the whole 'girl who likes him' thing. He would probably want to talk to him about it – as very president kind of took it under their belt to become his father-figure, which they had all somehow decided they had the right to fill after the Revolution. As much as it hurt to admit, no one could ever truly assume that role and fill the empty space in his heart the way Britain had…

Not only this, but Obama might not have been entirely happy about the whole situation in the first place. Especially if he somehow found out this ' _she'_ was another country.

But what was Alfred worried about?! This wasn't his fault! It wasn't like he was the one with the problem! Natalya was! _She_ was the one who liked _him_ , not the other way around… _right?_

 _Ahhgg!_ This was all so confusing and he was all too tired to worry about it right now. Honestly, he just wanted to go to sleep and the hour drive back home sounded like absolute misery. He considered just renting a room at a hotel to be safe, but sadly discovered he was practically broke- which left only one choice: Just stick it out and hope Natalya wouldn't be sleeping on his doorstep.

* * *

As America finally begun to near his rural neighborhood where his mansion would majestically stand, he was starting to have second-thoughts.

 _Please, please be bad at directions!_

 _What if she was like some rabid blue-tick hound who could smell him from fifty miles away!?_

 _What if she was already inside waiting for him?!_

From the wise words of Admiral Akbar, "It's a trap!" _Please be wrong, Admiral! It's of no disrespect!_

As he saw the weathered roof begin to grow in the horizon, he calmly removed an Old West styled revolver from under the driver's seat. He was sweating a little more profusely then he'd like to admit.

The sun was beginning to set, and it cast an ominous shadow over the house.

He slowly drove his Ford up along the curb, scoping the scene for any signs of movement before he tried anything. Finding everything seemingly normal, he bit his lip as he proceeded up the driveway. It seemed _so long_ all of a sudden.

His hand impulsively hovered over the gear as he searched the empty porch, ready to switch into reverse and hightail in outta there at the slightest hint of Belarusian.

Stopping in front of the garage, he craned his neck to look around before sucking in a deep breath to raise the dreaded door.

It opened so incredibly slowly, the suspense was eating him alive.

He didn't know what he was looking for. I mean, what were the chances Belarus would be able to navigate a foreign country in order to relocate his house? She had to have no idea where she was going. But… she had found him the first time… who said she couldn't track him down a second time?

You know, now that he thought about it, he did seem to remember noticing one suspicious black car when he had been driving home the other day. It seemed to always be there behind him no matter where he turned. He probably should have paid closer attention to it.

As Ol' Betsy rolled into the building, he nervously studied the dusty work-room. Everything seemed in order. The outside of his house hadn't seemed to be touched.

He hesitantly shut off the engine. Maybe things were alright and he was just overreacting.

He felt a jolt go through him as the garage door closed behind him, leaving him stuck staring into a curtain of pitch darkness.

 _Hadn't he left the light on? He didn't remember ever turning it off!_

 _Oh, crapcrapcrap! What if- what if_ _ **someone else**_ _had turned it off!_

He had to physically restrain himself from screaming as his blue eyes wildly dilated in the blackness surrounding him, blindly glancing in every which way as if it would somehow help him.

It was so quiet, _so deafeningly quiet._

 _Goodness, why!?_ He tightened his grip intensely over the firearm at his side and tried to push down the surge of panic rising in his throat.

Nope. Nope. Nope. He needed to control himself. Think… _logically!_ Yeah! That's what Arthur would have told him to do!

Okay… so what if… what if the lightbulb had just gone out? The thing was practically ancient and he _had_ left it on for most of the day, so maybe after so many years of disuse, it had just decided to burn out.

Yeah. Hey, this was kind of working! He felt calmer! …Well, he would have felt calmer, had it not been completely pitch black around him. He had never exactly been fond of the dark.

He could always raise the garage door again! Yeah! Except… the sun was already going down… and if he opened it, that would expose his backside and there was always the possibility Belarus would use that to her advantage. When he had parked, the garage had been empty. If she wasn't hiding in there, then he should have nothing to worry about.

Trying to process this new rationality, Alfred tried to slow his breathing and will himself to open the car door. All he had to do was make it inside. It was only a ten foot journey. What kind of pathetic hero was he?

That did it. Threaten his hero status? Bravery restored.

At least that's what he wanted to believe.

America flung the door open with all his might and thrust the gun outwards towards the opening. After a brief moment, he bolted out, slamming the door closed and frantically stumbled to where he assumed the door to his house would be.

The horrifying thought of a blue maid's gown lurking among the clutter caused him to clumsily trip over a bucket and onto the cold concrete floor, his face narrowly missing the door and nearly fracturing Texas.

He crazily rightened himself, losing all logic and beginning to wildly swing the revolver around in a hurried attempt to locate the doorknob. As he groped around the smooth wooden surface, he could have sworn he felt someone breathing down his neck, and it took all he had to withhold a shriek and to not start randomly firing out into open space.

His fingers brushed the light switch and he flicked it back and forth desperately trying to save his sanity. When nothing happened, he realized that the light must have just naturally blown out after all.

 _Or had someone disabled it on purpose?_

With one last surge of mortifying panic, America flung the door open and ran inside so fast, the door was closed and double bolted nearly as fast as it had been opened.

Leaning against the door, Alfred removed his spectacles and took a swipe at the sweat beading on his forehead. _My gosh._ He gasped for breath as his wild eyes searched the house around him.

 _He still might not be in the clear just yet._

Alfred drew in a sharp breath.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. _But that's just what they wanted him to think._

America reluctantly picked himself off of the door and took a hesitant step forward- feverishly looking every which way with his firearm loaded and at the ready.

He slowly edged his way into the living room, checking every crack and crevice for the slightest sign of deceit.

He wouldn't be fooled this time.

Just as he was beginning to calm, the unnerving silence was broken by a loud ruckus of clanging pots and pans from the kitchen.

Alfred jumped back from the doorway he was nearing in alarm, flailing about to stop himself from toppling over.

With his adrenaline spiked off the charts, he grasped the trembling weapon for dear life – unable to contain himself from smashing the trigger down as a figure stalked out of the arching doorway.

' _Pang!'_

The bullet rikishayed though the fabric of a nearby lampshade, knocking a dish out of the figures hands. It flew to the floor with a thunderous crash, revealing a smoking hole embedded in the proceeding wall.

The creature that had been exiting the door – plate of food it'd been carrying laying in a clutter against the nearby wall, a dark circle burned through its turquois surface – stood frozen in time.

After a moment of distressed quiet, Alfred peeled his clenched eyes open, horrified blue irises dancing around the scene to take in the horror he had caused.

Instead of finding a seriously wounded Belarusian stuck to the ground – which quite frankly, he didn't know if he would have been able to handle – he spotted a small gray creature standing unamused in the doorway. His bizarre little nubs held out as if he were still trying to carry the ghost of his plate.

Great relief tugged at the American's lips. " _Tony!?_ "

The boy's firearm clattered to the ground as he dropped everything to encase the shorter in a strangulating bear-hug.

"OMG, dude! You're okay! Oh, I'm so glad! I was _so_ worried! I missed you so much, ma-" The American abruptly stopped, mid-spin, pointedly holding the creature out in the air by his scrawny shoulders.

"DUDE!" He hollered, eyes narrowing at the dazed alien. "What the heck man! You totally ditched me! You _traitor_! How could you?!" America retracted his arms, letting his companion fall to his nubby feet with a 'plop'. He folded the appendages back across his chest indignantly.

The shorted only shrugged before rattling off a slew of curses – somewhere in there delivering a blow to his shooting skills – too lazy to bother with English. It didn't matter, Alfred could understand him perfectly fine, no matter how vile it sounded.

"You better be glad Imma bad shot er else I woulda blew yer brains out!" Alfred's face tightened as he caught the second part of his sentence. "And what do you mean she was pretty for a human and a good cook?" He asked incredulously, "How would you know-"

The alien pointed accusingly at the dish strewn against the wall, countering with another vulgar display.

Alfred raised a brow, studying his friend. "She made us food?" He questioned with interest.

Tony simply nodded, continuing with his explanation.

"Really?! You're okay with this entire situation just cause' you snagged yourself a free bite?! That's cold, man! Real cold! You didn't even bother to ask how things have been going for me!"

The alien's huge ovular eyes flashed at the American in a suggestive manner, deliberately purring another crude remark.

" _W-what!? N-no, I didn't have 'fun' with her!_ " America spat, eyes widening in embarrassment as his face turned a brilliant shade of red. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

The alien proceeded to wiggle his imaginary eyebrows and vex in his native tongue- clearly finding _way_ too much enjoyment in ruffling the boy's feathers.

America flustered – eyebrows scrunching together in frustration – the red yet to leave his cheeks. "Well gee, thanks Tony! That's real nice of you and all, but next time, could you do me a favor and _not_ try to set me up with a _psychopath_?!" He nearly screamed.

The shorted only calmly reached around the doorway, retrieving a brush and dust pan before lowering to the ground to sweep up the broken china. Noticing the discarded gun next to him, he picked it up, placing it on a nearby table, characteristically unconcerned.

"Bro! She could have killed me!" Alfred continued to squeak hysterically, lifting up his shirt to reveal the site of the scar she'd given him, still healing. Clearly Tony didn't understand the volume of the situation!

Tony stood with a full dustpan, passing America and crossing the dining room into the adjacent kitchen without a second glance.

Alfred followed with his arms folded, clearly still agitated. _Why wasn't Tony taking this seriously?!_

He watched as the gray alien emptied the dish's remains into the trashcan before returning the dustpan to its place.

Without hesitance, he paced back over to a spot at the counter and picked up a pre-made plate of food. Alfred raised an eyebrow as he neared the scene curiously.

Centered perfectly on the wooden boards with a sparkling-clean backdrop, sat a cheap Tupperware container filled with-… _something_ … Something that Belarus had apparently made, if he recalled Tony's words correctly.

America impulsively stepped back, as if expecting a bomb to go off.

Tony only carefully observed his American counterpart, a smug expression playing on his features. After watching Alfred's little bomb-drill act go on for a pathetic amount of time, he gave him an encouraging shove forward to get things moving along. He mumbled something a little too teasingly under his breath.

"What note?" Alfred crowed, flinching away from the container as he was nearly pushed into the counter. "Wha-"

He froze.

His eyes suddenly halted on a lone sticky-note placed squarely on the middle of the lid. He squinted to make out the curly mess of writing, encircled by an exaggerated shower of sketchy hearts:

 _For you, maja darahaja Amieryka,_

 _With all of my love._

 _~Your Bride_

Well, there was definitely no doubt about who it was from now.

The boy's mouth fell open as he read the printed message over and over again, imagining the poor girl's voice echoing through his head as she recited it with every ounce of her undying affection. The fuzzy image of a white maiden, agape as his lips refused to meet hers; the all too clear memory of a girl clutching the doors of a fast-food restaurant, irises blazing in dismay. That same excruciating look of utter heartbreak replaying itself in his mind – from memory and dream – over and over again.

He must have looked dumb-struck, because next thing he knew he was alone. He didn't even notice Tony leave the room.

After bracing himself, he reached forward and pried open the stubborn lid with some difficulty. Inside was a stack of small circular cakes. When trying to find a name for the substance, he drew a blank. _Must be some kind of Belarusian stuff,_ he guessed.

But there were bigger questions in mind.

When had she made these? This morning, when she had cleaned the kitchen possibly? Maybe even some time before that? But what if… what if they had appeared _after_ the McDonalds incident? What if she had snuck in and left them as a trap?

Welp… They were definitely poisoned.

Tony didn't seem like he'd known how they'd gotten there either, but he certainly didn't take on any suspicion. He could hear his friend's obnoxious munching from all the way in the kitchen where he stood. He glance over his shoulder for good measure, only to find his gray companion staring right back at him, intently watching. It made him nervous. Tony wasn't the type to stare. What was up with him?

Then it hit him. The note. The food. The pampered house. What must Tony have thought of all this?

It began to occur to him that he couldn't even begin to know what the alien had seen. Tony was known to come to some pretty bizarre conclusions… and all of this? What had he made of all this?

Well, it didn't point to anything good for him. No wonder he had hit him with all of those obscene remarks upon their reunion. Why, it looked like he'd practically gotten hitched while the guy had left! It'd been like three days for Pete's sake!

 _Aw, man._

He struggled to meet Tony's gaze.

The furious coloration of his cheeks and his avoidance of eye-contact was totally not helping anything either.

He quickly turned his back, feeling Tony's continuous stare as he studied the patties crisp texture. They looked like a bunch of burgers made from potato shavings. His stomach gurgled.

 _How could he eat this?!_

The poisoning was the least of his worries at this point. And not that it didn't look good – it looked great! It was just, how could he ingest an item made from such 'love' after he had flat-out rejected it? There was just something so _wrong_ about it.

B-but… His eyes retraced the note… _It's for me. She wants me to have it. The least I could do is fulfill her last wish._

Reluctantly, he filled a plate with the unusual cuisine – despite the painful clenching of his heart – and headed out of the room, treading across a path of perfectly polished tiles the whole way.

He hoped it was poisoned.

 _He deserved it._

* * *

Not even thinking about settling down until the entire house had been checked up and down three times over, America finally lowered himself onto the worn sofa next to his housemate.

He couldn't help it, he just didn't feel safe. Heck, not only had he checked under every bed, under every piece of furniture and in every closet, crack, or crevice within the spacious mansion, but had double locked every door and window he could find. It was actually rather pathetic really now that he thought about it, but that was the only way he would ever stand a chance at falling asleep tonight and he knew it.

He had only rushed outside for a brief moment to make sure Whale Dude was secure before turning tail and scampering back inside without a trace.

Every little noise, whether it be the wind whipping against the windows or the old creaking of the house settling, sent a wave of paranoia through him.

That, along with the looks Tony kept shooting him made him want to slap himself. _Dude! Would you getta hold of yourself! What's wrong with you?!_

He didn't know. He didn't know and that's what got him – what frustrated him beyond comprehension.

 _How could some delusional woman come into his life so quickly and leave him such a wreck?!_

As Alfred stared sorrowfully down at his full dish, he could faintly hear Tony skimming through channels.

After massive deliberation and the consideration that Tony wasn't dead yet, he finally built up the courage to take a bite of one of the soggy patties – and at that it was merely a nibble.

He looked up at the television screen as he slowly chewed, hoping to get his mind off the subject of snow maidens and toxins. It didn't help that every single detail about the flavor enveloping his mouth just screamed of 'Belarusian'.

Tony finally settled on the local news station and listened half-heartedly as a familiar news reporter went on about a recent incident involving the search for a missing carjacker.

It didn't catch his attention much until the camera finally rolled over the hectic scene of a crowded McDonald's parking lot.

Alfred's eyes enlarged, blinking profusely at the familiar setting in such a disheveled state.

Suddenly the camera fell onto a female reporter at the scene equipped with a microphone in one hand.

"Yes, David." She replied to her coworker's previous commentary, "Here I am standing at the site of where a young woman was said to have went on a rampage this morning at a local McDonald's. No one is quite sure what initiated this malicious act, but there were reports that a young female – some witnesses describe as being a foreigner – went ballistic and began to tear apart the facility, endangering frightened customers in her fit of anger." The screen switched to a fuzzy video of earlier that day. A hard object could suddenly be seen flying over a line of customers, just missing their heads as said girl stormed onto camera, violently ripping apart a sign before falling to her knees and burying her face in her hands. "The suspect is said to be clad in a mysterious blue maids outfit."

Alfred's breath hitched. _Oh no._

"After what appeared to be an abrupt emotional breakdown, the girl was said to have stolen a vehicle and sped off before the restaurant's establishment could intervene." Far away surveillance footage of the girl he knew as none other than Natalya Arlovskaya played, depicting her shoving an unsuspecting woman out of a driver's seat before leaping inside herself and speeding off.

"Here we have Andrea Pullet, the missing vehicles owner, as well one of the victims in this unexplainable attack." A riled up middle-aged woman flashed upon the screen, eager to speak her mind. "I was just going to leave when she just ran up and pushed me clear out of the way! Then she nearly ran me over as she took off!" She squawked, choppy bangs bouncing in dismay.

An elderly woman flashed on screen after her, taking her place – concern filling her kind blue eyes. "The poor thing said she was getting married to some brute! Oh! I-I don't know what I said, but she just jumped up and stormed out! It was really quite bizarre…" She finished thoughtfully. The main news reporter cut back on screen, concluding, "Police are currently trying to track down the stolen vehicle, identified as a silver 2001 Toyota Camry, and hopefully uncover this unusual girl's motives and whereabouts. Please call if you have any valuable information on this developing story."

The scene changed back to the stereotypical setting of several well-dressed newscasters huddled around a decorative table, "My, my. What could have prompted such a young lady to go to such extremes?" One woman inquired. "I don't know, Katie," A sharp-looking man answered, he suddenly turned to the camera to address the audience, "But please stay tooned for more updat-"

Before he could finish, the television flickered off, leaving a bare black screen in its wake.

Alfred hadn't even been aware of his reaching for the remote.

Despite Tony's look of utter shock, the young man abruptly stood without warning, an eerie stoic expression plastered over his features, placing his plate harshly off on a side-table in one single, mechanical motion, "I'm not very hungry."

The world was a blur to him as he maneuvered up the staircase, climbing steps in a robot-like fashion, reaching his bedroom and shutting the door in record timing – not hard enough to be classified as slamming, but just firm enough to count as a warning.

He threw off his clothes – save for his boxers – and crumbled onto the sheets, flinging Texas unceremoniously onto a dresser.

After a moment of stillness, he scrambled under the covers – despite the time reading a mere 7:13 – and buried his head under the pillowcase, desperately trying to rid himself of the unbearable din pulsating through his brain.

Of course, the room was completely silent.

This ruckus was not of an external matter. It was exclusively internal.

After all, guilt did not play quietly.

No matter how hard he tried, America would never be able to block out the nightmare erupting in his conscience.

* * *

He just felt so ill.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably under the covers for what seemed like the millionth time that night. His mind wouldn't be so kind as to leave him in peace. He'd been fidgeting nonstop for the past two hours.

Sprawled on his stomach, back, side; no position could soothe his turmoil.

He hadn't heard a word out of Tony since his abrupt disappearance. He almost wanted to apologize. It was pretty rude of him to just shut the TV he'd been watching off out of nowhere and walk out. He knew Britain wouldn't have approved of such behavior. He just hoped Tony would understand. That alien was known to hold some pretty nasty grudges.

 _He just couldn't help it._ He _had_ to understand that. He just couldn't bear to watch anymore. He couldn't stand to see the true volume of chaos he'd caused. Not only had he deepened the crack of an already broken girl, but he had placed the lives of his people in danger in the process.

He could honestly admit, that somewhere deep inside, he actually _missed_ her. He had taken a certain enjoyment in looking after her. He could finally introduce someone to his culture who _didn't_ think it was complete trash.

Part of him just couldn't handle sitting there in the same exact spot they'd fallen asleep together in the night before while a video of that same peaceful, dreaming face was reduced to tears, weeping on the floor, all because of _him_. This wasn't the first person he'd left crying on their knees. It was sick. It _made_ him sick. He wanted to vomit.

How could he have stooped to such a low level as to ditch his date in a McDonald's bathroom?

It was so bad, it wasn't even the kind of stuff you saw in movies.

If you were going to dump somebody, the least you could do was leave them someplace classy.

 _What had he been thinking?!_ Right now, he couldn't even possibly fathom how he had ever come to the conclusion that that had been a _good_ idea.

What could he say? He had panicked… And fear does strange things to people.

He groaned, pulling the pillow further over his face.

Remember that internal roar he'd been trying to block out earlier? Yeah, well now it was as real as the thunder shaking the house and turbulent sheets of rain pounding on the shingles. It was as if his mental state had manifested itself into the very atmosphere around him.

It was times like this that he wished he could just break out his old violin and play to his heart's content.

 _She_ was so misunderstood. _She_ had been rejected by so many. And when _she_ had turned to him in her time of need, he… he was ashamed to admit it… he had joined _them_.

He'd just thought she'd go crawling back to Ivan.

He was the country of justice for crying out loud! For him to do something so cruel, it was against his very nature! It went against every fiber of his being – every ideal he'd ever held dear! …It made him feel… as though he was straying away from himself…

It was quite possibly the most unheroic thing he could have done in that situation! If anyone needed saving, it was him, from his own stupid, impulsive, reckless-

A clash of thunder interrupted his thoughts as a piercing flash of lightening illuminated the room with a _clash!_

America shivered, yanking the blankets up over his head.

It wasn't that he was scared of the storm… Oh no. He had _way_ more important things to be scared of.

Did you see the way she had sent that doorknob sailing across the room!? How she'd shredded that advertisement to mere confetti in a matter of seconds!? If she found him, his life was over. She would rip him apart – literally!

He felt his anxiety peak as the weather became increasingly brutal against the window pane.

She could be _anywhere_. The storm was only providing her with additional cover.

He had the petrifying notion that she was lurking just beneath his bed, right below him, waiting for a stray foot to dangle down just low enough that she could yank him to his end.

He tightened, pulling all of his limbs up as far away from the edges as possible.

This kind of torture was agonizing. He was five seconds from having a break down when – in almost perfect timing – he heard the door creak open.

He sucked in a shallow breath, bug-eyed as he peeked out from his fluffy den.

Thankfully, the pair of huge scarlet lenses that settled on him belonged to none other than his friend, Tony.

The alien leaned further inside the crack as a lightning strike engulfed the room in a burst of white light.

The creature only seemed to sigh, observing his companion's condition as he stepped inside.

He went through the standard procedure of switching on the lamp, checking the closet, under his desk, behind the curtains and promptly underneath his bed – which made America cringe with the fresh image of a familiar blade trailing across the bottom of his mattress still gracing his thoughts.

Tony only lifted the sheets without problem and climbed inside – nothing out of the ordinary.

He was used to doing the whole 'monster-checking' routine after being asked enough times by a hysterical America – normally in the aftermath of a horror movie – to know when he was needed.

The boy just wouldn't go to sleep if you weren't there right beside him.

Alfred visibly relaxed upon his new arrival's presence – but only slightly.

At least he wasn't alone anymore.

But Tony's presence hadn't been enough to stop Belarus before.

The nation shot up, into a sitting position.

No. He couldn't continue to do this. This was Belarus he was talking about. She _would_ strike, and he would have to be ready.

He swung his legs over the bed's edge, still not entirely confident that a pale hand wouldn't shoot out and latch around his ankle.

He raced over to a desk hiding in the corner of the room, lightly dusted in lamp-light, and began scavenging for a sheet of clean paper.

 _When in doubt, write it out._

It was time he finally sorted out the complicated tangle of feelings knotted in his core.

It was time to break out the old quill and ink.

There was just something about his eagle quill pen that made him feel so empowered. So confident in himself. Why do you think the Declaration had turned out to be such a success? There was nothing like going back to your roots – in his case, being taught how to articulate what had been an alphabet of foreign symbols by an unbelievably patient Britain in the flickering of candle light.

No matter what anyone said, he had always had a passion for words. He'd flowered up that document so much, no one in their right mind would've thought he'd been the one to mandate it. He felt certainty when he wrote. It gave him courage. It allowed him to freely express himself and present himself in a dignified way that speaking would never allow. And his eagle quill had been the start of it all…

He opened a rather sticky drawer and felt around until he could feel the edge of a dusty feather brush his fingertips. America could feel an immediate sense of strength course through him at the very touch. He pulled out the writing utensil and a scavenged bottle of black ink and placed them firmly on the desk's hardwood, blowing off the layer of accumulated dust.

He took his seat – flashing back to how he'd sat around a table with Jefferson and Franklin some-odd 200 years ago, to settle out one of the hardest decisions of his lifetime.

It didn't matter how ridiculous he looked sitting there in his Old Glory boxers.

He could finally write as a human and not a nation.

He took a deep breath, cracking his knuckles before dipping the point deep into the obsidian liquid, allowing himself to spill his heart upon the page.

* * *

The next morning, Alfred arose groggily and paced through the kitchen with bare feet. After he'd finished writing last night - which'd taken up a good couple hours – it'd been much easier for him to sleep with both the guilt out of his system and the relieving pleasure that he'd yet to lose his touch with words. Even after so long they still came naturally to him. As natural as the feeling of his pen point gliding across the paper.

That however didn't mean he was well rested.

Even with an enormous amount of pressure taken off his chest that was so often associated with the release of tension through writing.

He couldn't hide the bags under his eyes, but at the moment as he strode across his mansion to go collect the mail, he quite frankly didn't care.

He had finally come to the conclusion in the wee hours of the morning that he wasn't entirely a bad person.

He was a person with good intentions caught in the wrong situation. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

America was about to undo the mass of locks bolting his front door closed when he saw a rectangular white shape on the ground below him, as if it'd been slipped under the door.

 _Huh? What's this?_

Alfred scratched at his bare chest with one hand as he bent over to pick it up. His fingers struggled to grasp its edge as he finally peeled it off the floor.

Curiosity getting the best of him – which it always did – he opened the envelope's unsealed flap and adjusted Texas on his nose.

He shuffled the envelope behind the letter that was inside as he unfolded the square.

 _Mr. America,_

 _I would like to personally apologize for all of the trouble Miss Belarus has put you through these last few days. Please don't worry, we've taken control of the situation. She is back with us now and shouldn't be any further of a problem to you._

 _To compensate for this inexcusable inconvenience, allow me to invite you over to Mr. Russia's house for a special apology dinner, on me. Think of it like old times._

 _It would greatly relieve me to have the pleasure of your attendance, Mr. America. I miss you._

 _We give you our greatest of apologies once again for the disturbance, and we hope to see you at our home in three days' time._

 _With kind regards, your old friend,_

 _Mr. Lithuania_

Alfred couldn't help but find himself pursing his lips, running a hand over his bed-head.

The hand writing seemed legit. It was the same neat print he'd read on countless notes before – just years before the Great Depression, whenever Toris had decided to leave him a warning that they were running low on flour or milk.

 _Interesting. Very interesting indeed._

Finally coming out of his thoughts, he folded the letter in half, chucking the envelope into the trash bin.

Completely forgetting about the mail – which was probably just a bunch of spam anyways… or worse, bills – he turned around in place, tapping a finger under his chin as he backtracked into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee.

* * *

America sprawled out over the sofa, phone in hand, not caring in the slightest about the wrinkles he was surely putting into his fresh clothes.

However, the person he was calling would undoubtedly throw a fit to see him "mistreating" his garments in such a way.

Yep. That's right. It was time to call the old man. He'd probably put the guy through enough hysteria, having not heard a word from him these past couple days… especially after their abrupt parting.

He was surprised the man hadn't called him _yet_. He imagined the Brit was intentionally restraining himself, trying to follow through with his whole 'Keep Calm and Carry On' doctrine. It was either that, or Alfred would have had to accept the fact that he just truly didn't care anymore… which was a great deal more painful to wrap his mind around.

He might have contacted him sooner if his cell hadn't been pulverized.

Darn it, Natalya. Now he was stuck with his bulky old home phone with its little swirly cord and everything. It was like he was back in the 70s again.

Not that he was complaining, he actually found that he'd missed the thing, in was just more of an inconvenience in this day and age. The cord barely reached the couch.

As he dialed the all too familiar number, he noticed a jabbing in his spine.

Brow furrowed, he slid an inquisitive hand underneath him in search of the pointy object.

As the phone began ringing, he jerked the appendage out from under him, nearly cutting himself on the edge of a jagged blade. He slid the weapon out of its hiding place in-between two couch cushions, lifting it up in front of his face to gawk.

 _What the-_

Barely after the first ring had ended, a voice immediately picked up.

"Alfred?!"

The pure amount of worry in that one word was kind of adorable coming from his old mentor. _Haha, he'd gone so soft after the world wars._

"Speaking." He purred out, twirling the knife absentmindedly between his fingers, legs propped up on the opposite armrest.

" _Alfred F. Jones!_ " Aw crap. He cringed. You knew you were in trouble when he used the full name.

"Where have you bloody been?!" Then suddenly the Brit's anger faded back into concern. "Are you alright?"

"Eh, I'm fine." America responded, as nonchalant as ever, casting a look from the knife down to the side-wound it'd likely inflicted upon him. It wasn't a total lie. He _was_ fine.

"Thank heavens," the Englishmen breathed, obviously relieved to hear the boy's old blatant self again. "I would have done something sooner, but that darn Frog kept on spouting about how, _'I shouldn't interfere with true love',_ or some ludicrous like that. If I didn't hear from you tonight, I was going to call the National Guard!"

Suddenly his temper seemed to catch back up with him and he chided, "Why haven't you called me?"

Alfred released a sigh. "I was busy," he answered casually.

The line went silent for a moment as Britain processed this blunt reply. His blood boiled.

" _If you don't mind me asking_ , _what exactly did happen?_ "

The American continued to tinker with the blade, settling to pick his nails with it instead. "Uhh… Long story."

" _I'm listening._ "

Well, jeez. If he really wanted to hear the truth…

"Well, first we took a very pleasant bubble bath before indulging ourselves with pie. Then we did some nice bonding over a friendly ball game! Oh, I just had the time of my life! We-"

"Alfred, _I'm serious._ " Wow. The one time Arthur wasn't proud of his spectacular usage of sarcasm. The funny part was that most of it wasn't.

"Well so am I! You try hanging out with Ivan's sister and see what happens! Why I bet-"

"Where is _Belarus_?"

"…"

"Alfred?"

"I-uh… I ditched her at a McDonald's."

The Brit released a snort, scoffing, "Only _you_ would abandon someone at-"

"-Look, man, I feel _horrible_ about it, okay?!"

The unexpected outburst was followed by a tense silence.

America couldn't keep the act up any longer. Talking about it only made the initial realization of what he'd done come back to him at full force. He'd been trying to repress the memory all morning… and it had been working too…

He abruptly flung the blade across the room at a random spot on the wall, watching it jiggle in place before settling to a stop. He pulled his feet from their footrest and settled them flat on the ground, bringing a hand up to touch his forehead in agitation.

"America," Arthur finally sighed.

"I-I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't apologize. Don't you dare blame yourself for this." His tone was harsh. "It's not like she didn't have this coming."

"That doesn't make it right." Alfred persisted.

"Alfred," Britain began seriously, "When I last spoke with you, you were _scared out of your ever-loving wits_. And from what _I've_ heard of Belarus and what she's done to you, _I'm sure_ your actions were justified."

There was a pause as his words hung in the air between them.

"Why are you letting her get to you? …Alfred, I've seen you toss cars around like they were made out of feathers for goodness sake! We both know you're more than capable of taking care of yourself! Why are you letting her get to you?"

That was a good question.

America closed his eyes, considering the impossible.

"What if I _do_ like her?"

"…"

Alfred felt his stomach twist at the pain-staking silence.

"… Y-you _can't_ be serious…"

"… But what if I _do_?"

"Alfred, she tried to _hurt_ you!"

"Arthur, you don't understand. She's not like everybody thinks. S-she's misunderstood…"

"Bullocks!" Arthur spat.

"I-I don't know what to do. I messed up. I messed up real bad."

"Don't even start that again, boy! None of his is your fault! You only did what anyone else would have done, perhaps you were even kinder!"

"That's not all, Arthur. I got a letter."

"Continue."

"It's from Lithuania. He says they have Natalya under control and that he wants me to come over for dinner to make it up to me. It's in three days."

" _Don't._ "

"Huh? B-but, Artie, this is Toris we're talking about-"

"-That's not a smart idea."

"I don't know about you, but I _trust_ Lithuania. I actually have faith in people… unlike _someone_."

"Wha- Uncalled for! And you're mistaken! I've just learnt how to place my trust more carefully, that's all! I don't doubt Lithuania's honesty, it's just that don't you think heading into that neck of the woods at a time like this is just asking for trouble? It could be risky. If Belarus finds you again, there's no telling what she could do to you! You're lucky to have escaped unscathed this time around!"

"Look, dude, Toris was one of my besties. We're close. He's always been so good to me and all he's ever wanted was freedom. What if this is some sort of plea for help? There's no way I can just blow him off now!"

The Englishmen released another exasperated sigh.

"Alfred, I worry about your judgment sometimes… But, if you do decide to go through with this – which I highly advise against – just please… promise me you'll be careful."

"Of course, Britain."

"… Alright… If that is all, I'm going to go now. I have matters to attend to."

"O-okay."

"Goodbye, America. Take care of yourself, lad."

"… Bye…" He called out shyly.

The phone clicked as he hung up the line and unsettling silence filled the house.

* * *

Britain slid his cell back into the pocket of his hooded robe as he turned back to his magic table, piled up with every possible odd and end an experienced wizard like him could ever need.

A glass of frogs legs, a container of bat-wings, and a jar of eye-balls (from sheep of course, not people, silly!) were all laid out before him on the cluttered table – only to name a few of the necessities.

He was in his basement, just below his London home – which he had specifically built to serve as a secure place for him to practice his casting, as there had been very few time periods where magic had been openly accepted. It was designed to be entirely soundproof. Which was especially helpful when he decided to break out the amplifier on his old electric guitar at the end of a long day, which was coincidentally also stored down there. Every gentlemen had to vent somehow.

Right now, his attention was currently focused on going over the informative conversation he'd just held with his former colony. His heart had leapt when his phone had begun to play that blasted 'American Idiot' song of Alfred's. What? It was the appropriate ringtone for that git in many ways.

 _Poor Alfred._ What had that boy gotten himself into? He was such a typical blundering and confused adolescent. He really hoped the lad would wise-up and heed his advice someday, but with America, you could practically guarantee that he'd do just the opposite. So stubborn. But then again, where'd you think he got _that_ from?

He frowned as he reached for his spell book, flipping several pages before turning to a shelf in search of something more.

"So he mentioned me?"

Britain's eyes widened at the high-pitched voice – he'd nearly thought he'd imagined it. The man whipped around, nearly knocking something off the shelf in the process.

"What the-?!" Arthur stopped himself as his eyes halted on a figure posed at the top of the staircase, before he could say something regrettable.

"What was it?" She slyly inquired, leaning dramatically out over the railing, far much too interested in the boy's opinion of her, "What did he say?"

Arthur turned visibly red with rage.

"How did you get down here?!" He seethed accusingly, still quite startled by her unexpected appearance. This was _his_ space. It was supposed to be private!

She produced no explanation as she waltz down the steps, lifting her dress up with one hand as she went.

Arthur's fists clenched.

As soon as she reached floor level, she turned an unnaturally violet eye to him.

Britain could feel goosebumps breaking out on his skin. _Something was wrong._

"You are fluent in the magical arts, _niama_?"

" _Get out of here this instant_!" He screeched, ignoring the blatantly obvious question. He was standing here in a robe surrounded by dead things with chalk drawings on the floor – _what did she think?!_

She took a step forward.

" _Don't you come a step closer!_ "

Then another-

A small explosion of green sparks ignited, crackling around her feet.

Arthur raised his arm out, wand in hand, a firm glare plastered on his face.

Suddenly the sparks began to die down, fading and seeming to be overwhelmed by a dark purple aura before they disappeared altogether.

 _What the bloody-_

His spell had been canceled.

 _Bullocks._

" _Y-you!_ " The Brit choked out, narrowing his sharp green eyes and pointing accusingly at her, "You're a blood relative to _Russia_."

Arthur paled with realization. There had always been something odd about the soviets and their relation to magic. It was like they were born with an unnatural amount of it already in their blood. _Dark magic_. It was no wonder why he'd always end up summoning a drunk Ivan when he'd been intending to lure a demon!

He doubted she even realized what she'd just done.

The girl seemed to fluster at the mention of her brother's name.

" _I suppose that answers my question,_ " She hissed.

Before Arthur could react, the Belarusian brought up her own hand – in her grasp an open spell book. Britain recognized it as one of his own. _Where had she snagged that from?_ _How long had she been in here? Apparently long enough to have heard the phone conversation…_

She sneered a string of nonsensical words at him, spitting them off her tongue like poison.

In an instant, he froze. _No- literally!_ _He was frozen in place!_ _He had no sensation from the neck down!_

She was a fast learner.

He nearly spewed curses as he locked eyes with the novice witch. After willing himself to calm down – he needed to think clearly – he opted for a quick quip instead.

"Impressive," He sneered.

The girl moved forward without hesitance, still equip with the spell-book. She stopped several feet beside him, in front of the table, examining its bizarre contents.

She placed the book down on the table before reaching a pale hand out to stroke a glass glowing with an unnaturally radiant purple liquid.

"Uh, uh, uh!" He tutted with warning, "I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

Her hand retracted slightly as she peered over to him, meeting his eyes with a gaze as bright as the enchanted liquid itself.

She made to reach for another container when he burst out, "Don't you put your hands on that! What do you want with me anyways?! What is the meaning of this?!"

"You are skilled in the crafting of potions, correct?"

"That's none of your-"

Before he could finish the sentence, a blade was at his jugular, much like he'd seen done to America at the World Meeting.

He gulped, his Adams-apple bobbing just above the edge – as sharp as a razor.

"You will instruct me on the creation of potions, _and you will do it now._ " There were no questions.

"W-what exactly are you interested in?" The Brit choked, rage slowly transforming into a sense of fear as long seconds passed.

She finally leaned away, blade lowering.

"I need a potion that would cause one to fall deeply in love," She suddenly turned to him with a devious glint in her eye, " _With me_."

Arthur kept his lips set in a straight line, eyes hard.

"You don't deserve him a bit, and you know it."

Belarus stared back menacingly, slightly surprised at the abrupt topic change.

"It's truly a shame that boy feels such guilt over someone like _you_. Believe me when I say you can't force him to do anything, _I'd know._ "

She seemed to decide against whatever violent act her eyes implied she had in mind, and in turn, willingly engaged in the conversation.

"Aw, yes. You were his colonizing Empire. You were the one to raise him?" She leaned back against the table casually, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "That means you know what he _likes_ , dy?"

Britain fumed at the notion of where this chat was heading.

"Surely not anyone like _you, darling_!" He bit out.

Without warning, he had a red gash running across his cheek and his head was spinning with the force of the blow. It had happened so fast, he hadn't seen it coming one bit. He'd need to watch his mouth.

"YOU WILL _NOT_ CALL ME THAT! _ONLY_ _AMERYKA WILL CALL ME THAT!_ YOU WILL ADDRESS ME BY NAME!" She was mere inches away from his nose, heaving in heavy gasps of air through a set of bared fangs. Her eyes wildly searched his face, full of madness.

Arthur grunted, leaning away as best he could, feeling her spray of saliva wet his face. _Accursed paralysis!_

"I'll never understand what he thinks he sees in you-"

She perked up at that.

"-nor what you see in him. With all the heart-disease and climbing obesity rates? Not to mention the horrid school systems… Hmm… definitely not the glasses… is it the hair? Because _I_ can take responsibility for that." He flipped his bangs, trying to show off the resemblance. Forget about watching his mouth. He'd endured far worse torment. He enjoyed playing with his captors far too much to go quietly.

The girl riled again. She leaned in close and released a hiss in his ear, working a boney hand around the elder's throat, " _He's_ _ **everything**_ _that you're not. Kind, considerate, sensitive, pure…_ " She paused as if continuing the list in her head, like she could have went on for days.

Ouch. _That_ hurt.

"Now, _Kirkland_ , you will guide me to make this-"

"I shall do no such thing."

Her hand tightened threateningly around his airway before abruptly letting go. She took in a sharp breath.

"It is of no matter." She flipped around to address the table, recomposing herself, "I can accomplish this feat myself. Your reluctance is only prolonging the inevitable." The girl cast him a suggestive eye, "Of course, by refusing to comply, you have forced me to consider alternative methods of validating my efforts."

Arthur internally quivered at that. _What did she mean?_

The female turned back, skimming the contents of the stolen spell book.

 _Oh, come on, the paralysis spell was child's play. There's no way she would be able to successfully-_

His heart stopped when she landed on the correct page, tracing the title with a slender finger. From where he was posed, he had the perfect side-view of her deranged smile. _Oh poor, poor Alfred._ _How had he dealt with this for the better part of three days?!_ He was about to be dealing with it for the rest of his life if Arthur didn't do something.

He could only stand there and watch with a calculating stare as she proceeded to fly over more and more steps.

 _How did she even know what half of those ingredients were?! How could she manage to pronounce all of that Latin so precisely on the first try?!_ The only conclusion he could come to, however, was that when Belarus wanted something, _she would make it happen_.

He nearly flinched when she finally piped up.

"There is only one more step. The blood of the desired one."

She reached within the ruffles of her gown and extended a rather bulky knife with a wide grin. Without a second of hesitance or even a wince, she sliced the blade over her palm, watching as it filled with scarlet red.

She held the hand out over the flask she'd been working with, letting a perfect droplet fall and dissolve into the solution. As soon as it touched the surface, it transformed the surrounding liquid into a bright star-lily pink and continued to spread into the rest of the contrasting black.

Wiping the remaining blood hastily onto her apron – creating a murderous looking stain – she held the flask up to inspect it, her eyes reflecting on its glass surface.

Arthur tensed when she suddenly turned to face him with not only the potion in hand, but the spell book. She flipped several pages before speaking.

"I am going to unfreeze you,"

His head drooped in relief. _Oh, thank the queen!_

"But there are consequences for your resistance," All the emotion had left her voice, causing Britain's throat to close with anxiety. _Good gracious, what could she have up her sleeve?_

"I must know whether I've interpreted the directions correctly, because of your lack of instruction,"

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Oh, do not worry," the woman cooed as she got uncomfortably closer, "You will like it."

Before he could protest, the mouth of the flask was shoved down his throat.

He impulsively forced down a gulp of the sticky-sweet substance before gagging and sputtering, pink ooze staining his robe.

She finally yanked the glass container away as she hurriedly spoke another passage from the open book.

Suddenly, the former Empire found the feeling restored to his body as his legs fell out from under him, sending him stumbling to the ground, gasping.

He bowed his head, spiky blond bangs blocking his face as he attempted to compose himself.

The girl stood tall with her hands on her hips, awaiting the desired response.

Arthur began to inch his way back into a standing position, making a grand show of when his irises landed on her.

"Oh…" He gasped, clutching a hand over his mouth. "My lady,"

A warm smile enveloped his face. So _warm_ , in fact, that anyone who'd known Arthur before would have found it to be incredibly creepy and unlike him. _They would have ran._

Abruptly, the Englishmen fell to his knees in front of her, grasping one of her hands in his.

She glanced down her nose at him, mesmerized by the potion's effect on her captive.

He placed a delicate kiss on the appendage, looking up at her poised form with fondness.

"Why, such beauty has never blessed my eyes."

Belarus was taken aback for a moment, but her expression quickly turned pleased. _It had worked. Oh, if it had worked so masterfully upon Britain, turning the man into a dashing prince-charming, she couldn't wait to see the effect it had on her America._

The girl harshly pried her hand from his reach, stepping back.

"I am sorry, but you are not the one I love."

She tried to block out the expression of absolute heart-break that followed as she poured the remaining potion into a spare vial for safe-keeping.

 _This potion was truly a dangerous one, indeed. It could snap a heart clean in half._

She quickly maneuvered to a different section of the spell book, tracing a finger over something new. "Now sleep."

Again, she whispered out another long phrase of Latin, but gentler this time.

Before it was even fully mumbled, and the Belarusian was even half-way up the stairs, the light was already beginning to fade from Arthur's eyes.

 _But he'd known something she hadn't._

If she would have taken the time to look just a bit closer as his last seconds of consciousness evaded him, she would have seen the distinct alertness in his gaze, the self-awareness in his eyes – the _self-control_.

Then, she would have understood her mistake.

She would have understood that she wasn't the only one holding secrets.

She would have caught the act before it'd begun.

He had centuries of experience in bowing to the world's finest of queens, starring as main roles in the most anticipated of plays.

He had learned from the best of course.

And he had no one but Shakespeare to thank.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **AH! Hello everybody! (I know what you're thinking, she's been gone for so long and all she has to say is hello?) :D But, I'm back! I'm so very sorry for the looooooong wait, let's just say that ever since the school year began, it's been increasingly difficult to focus! DX Please forgive me! (This is the time I wish I could hire Liet to write an apology note for me, he seems to be pretty good at those…)**

 **Let's just say that if you've stuck around for this long, you da real MVP! Seriously, I can't thank you enough for showing such loyalty and baring with me for all this time. *huggles* ^-^**

 **I'll try to make these notes a little shorter, because the sooner I finish writing them, the sooner you guys get to read the chapter! (Although I know I'm going to fail because I have a lot of explaining to do and I love to ramble.)**

 **I'm really just trying to get this out before I start school again. Today's my last day of winter break. : ( (Which I totally powered through to get this chappie done! Props to me for finally pulling my act together!)**

 **Speaking of the chapter, let's just say that I tried to make up for the insanely long delay by making this the longest chapter EVER! (Man, I remember when I though 5,000 words was like a big accomplishment. Lol)**

 **It's ova 9,000! (No, literally… Well actually, it's more accurately over 12,000, but you get the point. XD)**

 **Let me just say, doing this has made me realize that the internet knows WAY too much, particularly Wikipedia. How else do you think I figured out that the Presidents oldest daughter's Birthday was the Fourth of July? I'm telling you, it knows EVERYTHING. 0_0 (Add that to the list of reasons not to become famous.)**

 **The Belarusian dish that Nat leaves Al is called Draniki. (Look it up, it's real…) It's basically exactly how I described it: A traditional Belarusian dish made out of Potato shaving patties! XD It actually sounds quite good. Like exotic hash browns fused with potato pancakes…**

 **Haha, Britain's ringtone for America being 'American Idiot'… XD I imagine when he first got a cell-phone, it was something more serious like his National Anthem, but after a while it probably turned into a contest of who could embarrass the other more and he started choosing every insulting song towards Americans ever, probably featuring Yankee Doodle at some point. ^-^**

 **Just imagine Arthur in an important meeting with his Prime Minister and then his phone suddenly goes off, blasting, "I DON'T WANNA BE AN AMERICAN IDIOT!" 0_0 HAHA! XD**

 **And let me just point out that Al and Iggy's hair does have a resemblance. In certain shots, there's this one little piece that curls out, it's different from the rest. (Yes, I have spent that long looking at it! ^,^)**

 **Chapter 7 Translations : (I probably don't have to tell you by now, but…)**

 ** _maja darahaja Amieryka_ (Belarusian) - My Darling America**

 ** _Niama_ (Belarusian) - No**

 ** _Dy_ (Belarusian) - Yes**

 **Thanks for sticking around, and please just try to hang in there! I can't promise any more regular updates until school gets out, but I hope to have this story completed by that point. ^.^"**

 **Thank you all for being such great readers!**

 **Farewell, fellow Hetalians! Fret not! I shall return!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	8. Chapter 8

As Alfred finally spotted the outline of a house in the distance, every fiber of his being screamed to turn back.

He shuffled down a rather narrow footpath through heaps of fresh snow, transforming the forest into a ghostly maze. No, this wasn't the fluffy kind – the kind you built snowmen and had playful snowball fights with – this was the hard, unpleasant kind.

It reminded him far too much of the atmosphere of a particular dream whose memory had yet to fade.

 _Boy, he wish it would._

He folded his arms across his chest, trying desperately to stop the shivers raking his body, only for his efforts to be in vein.

And he though winters in New York could be bad.

That was nothing in comparison to the relentless sheets of ice pelting him now – here he was so small and insignificant compared to the vast wilderness surrounding him.

Why did Ivan have to insist on living so far from civilization?

Maybe his disintegrating sanity wasn't entirely his fault, or any of his sibling's for that matter. Anyone who isolated themselves in this mess was bound to lose it.

Just trying to make the trek to the front door had his own grip on reality dwindling.

He exited the trail onto a larger walkway that led into a clearing. Or at least what he though was a clearing. The piles of snow were so large that he could never be quite sure what lay beneath. For all he knew, there could've been elephants hiding under there. He wouldn't really know until all of this dreaded ice melted … _If it ever did._

As he studied the towering manor growing in size – its walls dark against the flourishing white – it almost looked deserted.

He felt a jolt at the thought.

What if this was just another one of the Commie's traps? What if he didn't actually live here? He'd just dragged him out in the middle of nowhere so no one could hear his screams?

Or worse.

What if Belarus had something to do with this?

The thought of being stuck out in these woods alone with her in the middle of a blizzard made his chest heave. Get him right while he was out of his element. It was ingenious.

This is why he was only partially relieved by the faint trail of smoke lingering above the chimney stack.

The fact that he was no longer alone did little to ease his worry. In fact, it only seemed to make matters worse. All it did was contribute to the list of endless possibilities to consider. Now he didn't even have an excuse to turn back on the off chance it really was deserted.

More importantly, what was he to expect for dinner arrangements? I mean, when Lithuania had said 'we', he had assumed that he'd meant dining with the entire remanence of the Soviet Union.

Fun.

He could only imagine what kind of disasters this would have resulted in had it taken place fifty years in the past. Like, we're talkin' _global_ destruction.

Feeling the pistol he'd hidden for good measure in the back of his trousers and the outline of Belarus' knife in his pants pocket, he was only provided with minimal relief. Mere human weapons would have never been enough to fend off a reawakened Soviet Union. It was simply a precaution to make him feel better. He knew Toris wouldn't mind it though. He understood well enough that Alfred couldn't just stroll into one of his greatest adversary's homes unarmed. He was in foreign territory now. He had no control.

Stopping in front of the residence, he dug a gloved hand deep into his pocket to feel the blade surely waiting.

He'd brought it for a number of reasons.

It was truly an impressive weapon. Small enough to be easily concealed, yet thin enough to blend into your wardrobe. Even after only having possession of it for a short time, he could already begin to understand how Natalya could seemingly pull her blades from nowhere. They weren't heavy enough to slow you down, but their lack of weight was made up for in deadly precision. With years of practice, it was no surprise how one could learn to master them to the extent that they appeared to be pulled from thin air.

…

 _Okay._ You got him.

The _main_ reason he had it was because he was going to return it.

Now, this may have sounded crazy, but if you'd just hear him out.

That knife had served as a reminder. A constant connection to the memories he was trying to forget. The longer he kept it, the longer he would live in grief. Simple.

He didn't really feel right about keeping it, and maybe if he gave it to Toris, the man could return it to her as a peace offering.

I mean, he obviously couldn't just give it to her directly. Right now he could only hope that he wouldn't even have to be in the same room as her altogether. Surely Toris would've had enough sense not to put them together again so soon.

As he finally willed himself to climb the wooden steps of the porch, he had to keep reminding himself: _This is for Lithuania._

They were easier to climb than he'd expected with the promise of a warm covering from the blizzard ahead.

He observed the porch space, seeming to have been recently swept off. Or more accurately, _shoveled_ off _._

On both sides of the main doors were bulky flower pots. Except that's all they were. No flowers. No life. Just dirt.

How comforting.

No welcome mat?

Anything?

…Hmm.

With the unpleasant sensation of frigid wind whipping at his back, he began to take his first steps towards the doors.

He paused, as if to say his goodbyes to the world. The likeliness of him ever coming back out was slim.

Well, he'd told his boss where he was going, so it's not like no one knew where he was. If he wasn't home within the next three days, they were to assume the worst and send in the SWAT teams. It'd taken dozens of attempts to convince his government to let him have a few days off for diplomatic travel before they'd finally caved. "It'd encourage better international relations," he'd coaxed. Eventually, they'd mailed him their acceptance in the form of a stack of paperwork needing to be completed in the meantime, ' _So you won't get behind,_ ' they had written.

 _Can't a guy leave for two days without mountains of work piling up?!_

Nevertheless, he was just surprised they'd actually listened. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Russia was involved. They would have never allowed him to decline an invitation from the Russian, in fear of coming off as 'unfriendly'. They'd do anything to prevent another Cold War.

Alfred gulped, looking up at the beams of the porch's overhang, shutting his eyes for a moment.

He drew in a large breath, rapping on the door before quickly drawing his hand away.

Nothing.

Just when he thought General Winter's nipping hands would sweep him back out into the storm, the door opened.

A timid dirty blond head peeked out from around the edge, its turquoise irises tinged with violet, as if they were still deciding on their true color. They widened in concern as they saw the American standing oddly out of place in the middle of a Russian blizzard.

"O-oh! M-Mr. America! What a pleasure it is to see you. Please come inside. We've been expecting you." There were no cheer in his words.

Alfred shuddered, leaning away from the breeze. "Of course."

Latvia held the door open, ushering him inside.

 _ **He stepped past the threshold.**_

Thick chocolate bar doors swung closed behind him with a thud, like prison gates locking. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the interiors yellow lighting.

He glanced down at the boy, finding him tightly grasping a broom in one hand with a frilly apron on. He rose an inquisitive eyebrow.

The younger shuffled nervously, eventually deciding to rest his broom against the wall. He motioned to a nearby coat hanger, piled with cloaks. "You may remove your coat."

Alfred immediately began to peel his heavy bomber jacket off, thankful he hadn't left any weapons in its pockets – they were all still safely concealed on his body. "Hello, Latvia. How've ya been?" America tried to play a smile, initiating in easy conversation.

Latvia turned a shade of ghostly white as he hesitated. "I have been… w-well." He croaked shyly, eyes frantically darting around the room.

America wondered how much of that answer was true.

"Great!" Alfred responded, removing his gloves and allowing for the boy to take his jacket from him.

As he hung it up on an empty hook, Alfred let his sight wander throughout the room. It was cozy. There was a crackling fireplace surrounded by some bulky furniture draped in woolen quilts. The walls consisted of numerous paintings – bearing a general theme of sunflowers and summer fields – undoubtedly Ivan's influence. It was, in an undeniable way, as if the man longed for the very opposite of everything he had ever come to know.

"Please, follow me."

America was led down an adjoining hallway, endless doors lining each side of the corridor. Alfred was too busy marveling at the apparent normalcy of the house – hominess even – to monitor their path.

 _The place was bigger than it looked!_

The shorter stopped at the end of the hall, turning to the last door on the right. There was nothing special about it. Looked about exactly the same as every other one lining the hall.

"Here we are. R-right through there." Latvia mumbled, voice cracking.

The boy moved to open the door, holding it wide against his back for the American to enter. A dim abyss lie in wait.

He wasn't sure whether to take Latvia's behavior as a genuine sign of warning, or whether it was just purely normal to live in constant fear under the roof of this household. It honestly wouldn't have surprised him if the latter was the case.

"Thank you, Latvia." He granted, trying to be polite and ignore the horrid feeling filling his gut.

 _Except_ – when he took his first step inside – he realized that it'd been right all along.

" _I'm sorry,"_ The hushed whisper broke the air before the door jutted shut behind him. It was followed by something that sounded suspiciously like the turning of a lock.

All politeness went out the window.

He stood rigid, shocked in place.

Alfred's eyes bulged, adjusting to the abrupt darkness of the room as he felt his heart begin to beat out of his chest.

" _T-Toris?"_ He called out softly.

Surely Lithuania was there. This was some kind of sick prank.

" _Toris?!"_

Except, Toris wasn't the pranking kind. Not in a situation like this.

 _He was armed._ He just had to keep reminding himself of that. He _had_ prepared for this.

Too stiff to move, he looked over to the windows filling one side of the room – providing his only light source – obscured by the thick of snow on one side and blanket of drapes on the other. Only dull slivers of light leaked in, icicles hanging in jagged formations outside as more frost pelted the house.

His heart leapt to his throat as a racket pierced his ears. The commotion of a piano scale broke the icy silence, as if someone had ran a hand over the keys.

It descended straight into a deep rumble of low notes that seemed to be pulled straight from a horror movie soundtrack.

He frantically searched the room for its source – nerves on edge – squinting to make out the shapes among the shadows.

Before he could whip out his firearm, he jerked his head to see a small flame brake the darkness. It hovered over what appeared to be a dining table. Wick after wick was lit until three orbs of fire cast the surrounding area into an eerie orange glow, no evidence of the musical instrument in sight. Surely it lurked somewhere deeper beyond the candles radius.

There, standing behind the array of candles with a flickering match in one hand, was the sole cause of his inner turmoil.

Making a reappearance.

All five feet of lean Belarusian, looking absolutely lovely in her signature gown.

Just manic over her menacing performance.

Panic time.

 _Oh no- Oh no- Oh no-_

" _What are you doing here_?!" Alfred finally burst out, voice filled with more dread than anger, " _Where's Lithuania_?"

He was only met with a devious grin of fangs as she gingerly blew out the single match.

He restrained his nervous fingers from reaching their weapons. He didn't need to expose himself yet. He needed that ace up his sleeve.

More importantly, he didn't need to be the one to initiate the conflict. He didn't need to go down as the offender.

 _Not exactly what he had in mind. Out of all the scenarios he'd dreamed up. From having been strangled by Russia's very much 'alive' scarf, to being kicked out due to his poor manners, or to even something as extreme as starting a full out nuclear war. Not this. Stuck in a candle lit room with a surprisingly gorgeous psychopath… Hmm, maybe it was just the candlelight…_

He wanted to sigh and internally slap himself.

 _How had he been dumb enough to walk into this?!_ _Lithuania had said everything had been under control! He'd just thought that since Liet had- …_

 _Uh, oh…_

 _If Lithuania wasn't_ _ **here**_ _, then-_

"What'd you do to him?! _You monst_ -"

"Sit." It was a command.

"Come on, I'm not playing games- now where is he?!"

" _Sit._ "

"Tell me where he is!" He found himself backing towards the door in retreat, hand instinctively reaching for the knob, unable to accept the anticipated result. He was plastered to the door, paralyzed with fear. "I-I'm- I'm gonna-"

" _Take a seat, Alfred._ "

His threats froze on his tongue.

After one last hysteric attempt with the stubborn knob, his hands fell limp at his sides. Something in her voice – maybe the personal edge to his human name, or the pain it surely promised – called for his unwavering compliance. _Why did his strength always seem to elude him when it came to her?_

He shared a long stare with her before finally taking the initiative.

He neared her with several rigid steps, mostly just trying to get close enough to use the candle light to his advantage – he wanted to get a good look at her face.

Entering its range, he wasn't sure what to expect. Animosity? Anguish? He _had_ practically abandoned her, and based on that security footage, she clearly hadn't taken well to it.

What he wasn't prepared for in meeting her eyes, though, was the complete and utter derangement there, sizzling like purple acid behind an innocent facade. Now this wasn't her typical look of madness, oh no. This expression was seemingly plain upon first glance. That's what made it _scary_.

Beyond its shell, its true sentiment penetrated _deep_. It was _knowing_. _Calculating_. _Morbidly delighted_. All of these mixed into one with a shadow of vengeance, lying just beneath the surface, ready to be awakened in an instant. Ready to form a hideous beast that yearned for nothing more than to see the floors mopped with his own blood.

 _It was more terrifying then he could have ever imagined._

 _It was beyond broken._

 _Shattered._

 _The perfect mixture. The perfect fuel for a psychopath._

His throat went dry.

Now Alfred was a naturally curious man.

He'd taken it upon himself to do some much anticipated research within the last few days leading up to his departure. He'd always had his theories about Natalya's behavior, much like everyone else.

At first, he'd suspected that she was simply Bipolar.

Now that had made perfect sense, but he wasn't so sure anymore.

What he did know, however, from what basic understanding of Psychology he had, was that she was undoubtedly suffering from some type of severe personality disorder.

After several late nights of browsing the internet for answers and narrowing the results down, he had come to the conclusion that the disorder most shockingly fitting of her symptoms, was some condition called Borderline Personality Disorder.

 _The extreme fear of abandonment, the emotional instability, the violent outbursts and farfetched impulses._

It just fit so well.

He had to wonder how she'd gotten this way, though. He'd seen her scars – the ones covering her arms at least – which surely only documented a small fraction of the tragedies she'd faced throughout her long life. One significantly longer than his own.

He couldn't even imagine.

She appeared to be in shambles, yet other surviving nations from as far back as the ancient world – China for instance – seemed to be in a relatively stable mindset. What was it that differed? What caused a nation to just – lose it? Were they simply created that way? Was it the people – the environment in which they represented?

There were still just so many things about his kind they had yet to understand.

Which particular instance had been the one to send her over the edge? How long ago had it been?

Every time he thought about it, it just unearthed so many latent feelings in him that he couldn't quite grasp them all at once. It was heartbreaking to think that all she desperately wanted was to have a long lasting, loving relationship, but her mental state was constantly twisting all of her attempts into a gross misunderstanding. Like maybe – just maybe – all of this wasn't her fault after all. She was merely ill. A patient urgently in need of treatment. That maybe he _could_ help her. That maybe one day, they could… they could just –

 _-No!_

… _H-he didn't care._

 _He couldn't._

The female gave a pointed look to the chair before her, holding her chin high and breaking him out of his thoughts with a grunt.

Huh?

Her eyes flickered from him, down to the seat.

 _Oh!_

Wait. _Was she serious?_

She cracked open a lid, batting her lashes at him insistently.

Closing his mouth – which he'd just realized had been hanging open – he broke the stillness to cross over to her side of the table, pulling the chair out for her in a gentlemanly like gesture.

She pursed her lips, sitting lightly upon the red velvet cushion with her hands in her lap, waiting to be pushed in.

Alfred maneuvered the seat forward, adjusting it in front of the table before returning to what had been designated as his own seat.

He slowly settled in his chair – modeled exactly after hers – and shifted uncomfortably in place.

 _Okay. This was okay. He'd just have to talk his way out of this one. He'd have to worry about Toris later. If what she'd done to Tony had been any indication, he was likely just locked in a broom closet somewhere. Unharmed._

Welp, let the awkwardness commence.

He wanted to be mad at her, _he really did_. After all, he was really getting tired of this whole being held hostage thing, but he couldn't help but feel like this time, he may have actually deserved it…

And it wasn't fair to hold this against her if she really was sick…

As he sat back, he could feel the pressure of the smuggled pistol against his lower back. He couldn't let her discover it. Thankfully, he'd been sure to wear enough layers to where it wasn't noticeable, using the climate as an excuse, but if something were to happen and she found out...

 _Clap!_

The sudden clap of two pale hands made him start.

He stared at the girl across from him, wide eyed and clutching the chair's seat so tightly, he had to physically restrain himself. He knew that if he didn't, it would be undoubtedly pulverized. Didn't need to cause any property damage on top of everything else.

Vision drifting down to the table, elegantly set with linin cloths and a stand of candles set off to one side – he noticed the vase, harboring a pair of lonesome roses – one of scarlet and one of ivory.

 _How perfect._

There were sounds of a tussle as torrents of white danced against the windows.

He practically ground his teeth together at the sound of a side door creaking open.

 _When had that gotten there?!_ They were definitely good at keeping him in the dark – literally.

Light flooded through the doorway, giving way to a well-dress figure, straightening his suit jacket as he shuffled out, "You called?"

Alfred felt his jaw drop at the voice.

Natalya held her chin high, " _Refreshments._ "

"Of course,"

Their new visitor disappeared for only a fraction of a moment before returning with a rolling metal serving cart.

America felt as though he could spit fire as he locked gazes with the traitor.

Estonia only adjusted his spectacles before greeting him with a sour smile.

 _What the heck, Eduard! I thought we were friends!_ Alfred internally fumed, the cold of betrayal seeping in.

The other nation didn't seemed too horribly concerned though, actually, quite the opposite. More-or-less amused. _Should he interpret this as a good sign? Surely Estonia was one of the few countries who didn't wish for his demise._

The Estonian quickly broke their stare to look down at his work as he rested two crystal glasses upon the table, their forms glistening in the candles glow.

"You must be parched," Belarus motioned to his glass as their so called 'waiter' lifted a pitcher and immediately began to fill it with a clear liquid, "Have a drink."

Alfred faced the glass with a doe-eyed expression, eyes flickering to each of his company's faces.

"Do not fear, it is only water."

 _Yeah. And it'd better not be the Russian kind either._

The twisted smile on Natalya's face was chilling as she gave Edward instructions before turning back to him.

"Dinner will be served shortly," Estonia announced before exiting the room.

 _So dinner was still on? …J-Just the two of them? …Alone?_

Semidarkness consumed them once again.

He was glad. This way, maybe she wouldn't see how pale his complexion had grown, or how sweaty his hairline was becoming.

Belarus picked up her glass, taking a pristine sip.

"So, Amieryka, since all of your previous 'friendship building activities' have clearly _failed_ , I have decided that it is only fair that I should have a try on the matter."

 _Oh, cutting straight to the chase, I see._

The way she gripped the glass as she bit out the word ' _failed' –_ as though she was an instant from shattering it – made him feel as though he might shatter too.

The female tilted her head to look down at the space beside her seat, carefully lifting a box onto the table.

At Alfred's startled noise, she quickly affirmed, "It will serve its purpose this time, _I assure you_."

America could only watch as she opened the lid, half expecting something to pop out. He was proved wrong when she reached inside to pull out a stack of seemingly harmless notecards.

She smirked at Alfred's look of utter bemusement.

 _Jeez, was she still mad about the whole Monopoly thing?_

"Allow me to explain the directions. I pick a card, I answer the card. You pick a card, you answer the card. Simple, dy?"

 _Come on, they could play Twister next time if she wanted! No misunderstandings in that!_

America felt his spine quiver as his eyes darted back and forth between her and the stack.

There was absolutely no way on the planet this was going to be an ordinary game.

Sensing his reluctance, Natalya offered, "Let me show you, I will take the first turn."

She reached for the pile, selecting a random card from the lot. She took a deep breath before reading its contents aloud:

"What are the wedding traditions of your homeland?"

She closed her eyes dreamily, pleased for a moment before continuing.

"Ah, yes. Very good. First, you must know about the Vodka. It is most important. Suiters must present it as a gift to the bride's parents during the initial feast. Then, if he is deemed worthy – and only then – they shall marry. The bride shall tie a finely embroidered towel around her hand that she will drag across the ground on her way to the church. It will establish the path to be used by her companions once they have been wed."

Her eyes seemed to blaze with passion as they crinkled at him. "What is it like in your homeland," She rested her chin in her hand comfortably, "when you are finally united with the one you love?"

Alfred hadn't noticed he'd started biting his lip until a faint metallic taste registered on his tongue.

"D-does tying soda cans to the back of your car count?" He squeaked in a mixture between a murmur and whimper, struggling to find his voice.

She burst out into a cackling laugh that was cut unnervingly short. "How… interesting." She spoke melodically, "I'm not sure how my people would react to such a sight." Then she reasoned to herself in a whisper, " _That is one particular tradition I would like to refrain from on the day we finally wed..._ "

Alfred jerked back in his seat, " _Wait!_ Wha-"

He was interrupted as the box was shoved in front of him, "It is your turn now, dy?"

He silenced, watching the box as if it would suddenly suck him inside like a vacuum at any given moment, where she would surely keep him prisoner.

After enduring a torturous moment's stare, he gulped, impossibly reaching for a card.

America slowly drew one, simultaneously deciding that he was in need of a drink. He eagerly lifted the glass to his mouth.

If there was one thing that Belarus had been right about, it was the fact that he was parched. The scratch in the back of his throat was driving him mad. It was one of anxiety's pesky side effects.

He drew in a tentative sip as he nervously searched the letters printed on the cardstock.

 _Ahk!_

He choked, nearly spewing onto the table.

 _No, it wasn't the drink._ She'd been one hundred percent truthful there. It was just plain old tap water.

 _But the card-!_

 _At first he thought he wasn't reading it correctly because of the lighting, or Texas was acting up, but-_

He unwillingly erupted into a fit of coughs and hacks, covering his mouth with a fist, some part of him –possibly the gentlemen Britain had raised – still attempting to preserve his manners.

 _What kind of game was this?!_

He immediately felt his face growing warm as he flipped the darned thing over so no one could see it, insistently shoving it away from him.

He gave his head a vigorous shake, "I-I'm not answering th-that-" He rasped.

Her expression was unsettlingly devoid of worry as she studied him with something similar to disappointment.

She began to lean in, inquisitively.

 _Man, his face felt like it was on fire!_

Alfred continued to wipe at his mouth, lowering his glass, head still shaking an insistent 'no'.

"I don't want to play-"

Belarus paused for a tense moment before firmly reaching for the card he'd made such a big fuss over.

She barely scanned it before a grin tinged her expression with lunacy.

"Oh, this is one of my favorites," She cooed, " _How many children do you wish to have?_ "

Her saying it out loud only made his coughing – which was just beginning to subside – start up again, his cheeks flaming along with it.

 _Shouldn't have come. Should have listened to Arthur. He always should've listened to Arthur – and he always realized it too late._

"If it helps you, _Amieryka_ , I will answer first," The way she purred his name gave him goosebumps.

He was just about to take another – hopefully successful – sip to sooth his throat and hopefully ease his respiratory distress when she responded,

"I would have as many precious dzieci as possible. I can only hope that my offspring would number in the twenties at _least_ -"

 _ **BAD**_ _decision._

This time he couldn't hold back the spit-take, as liquid expelled from his lips – although most of it ended up only staining his own shirt.

 _Sweet lady liberty!_

He gasped for air, trying to regain his composure for the second time in the last minute.

 _Was his poor throat ever going get some relief? All he wanted was a drink for crying out loud!_

"T-that sounds-" He wheezed, fighting the urge to blurt out something offensive. He carefully rephrased his words, "… _expensive._ "

 _Oh, there were so many other things he could have finished that sentence with…_

If he thought his cheeks must have been burning up before, then he couldn't even imagine what they must've looked like now. You couldn't find that kind of color on a chameleon.

The Belarusian curiously inspected him, silently judging his reactions as she peered out from her veil of darkness.

Something peculiar shifted in her.

"I… I think that that will be enough for now…"

 _Heh? She suddenly sounded so flat. Saddened almost?_

He hadn't expected her to give up so easily. Belarus _never_ gave up.

Maybe Bipolar wasn't entirely out of the question then?

This gave him a sinking feeling that he couldn't quite shake. There had to be more going on.

The smell of a hot meal lingered into the vicinity just moments before Estonia made his reappearance.

The man seemed to immediately catch sight of Alfred's spectacular bush and give him a sly wink as he gently placed their dishes on the tablecloth – Natalya finally removed her disturbing attempt at a bonding activity from the table.

 _Thank goodness! He didn't even want to know what the rest of those cards had said…_

His attention span was suddenly compromised by the steaming meal before him.

 _He hadn't even realized he'd been hungry._

 _How did they know food was his weakness?_

He stared longingly at the foreign assortment that filled his nose with such savory delight.

His initial excitement immediately dwindled at the sight of the blood sausages.

Ugh. Black Pudding. He just couldn't shake the relation it held to his numerous visits to the UK where Arthur would always make the European dish and scold him when he didn't finish it.

Now, Al wasn't one to leave a meal unfinished, but take into account, these were extenuating circumstances. Part of it was simply the fact that they had been made by Britain of all people, which had enough horrors in itself, but Alfred had never been too fond of the dish to begin with. Something about the ingestion of blood was just… not his idea of an ideal meal…

It wasn't a burger; that's for sure.

Aside from that, though, there was a pile of gourmet looking vegetables alongside some rice that appeared to be topped with an odd type of round berry…

The smell was definitely calling wonders to his empty stomach.

But was it safe?

Estonia wouldn't lace his food… right? He was a decent guy… for the most part.

Eduard watched as Alfred unconsciously licked his lips, gaze never wavering from his plate, like an animal on the brink of starvation.

No doubt the boy hadn't eaten since his lengthy flight had landed.

"Enjoy," Estonia gave a light bow, lighting several more candles around the room to increase their visibility before exiting with the empty cart.

Belarus folded her napkin, laying it properly in the center of her lap. Alfred could just imagine Arthur's pleased nod now.

She gently lifted a fork – crafted from perfectly polished sterling – before deliberately hesitating on her guest.

 _How was it that she could appear to be so ruthless, yet at other times so delicate?_

Alfred incredulously eyed the meal, then the Belarusian.

"Please," She insisted, "Eat."

His only response was an involuntary gulp.

"Go ahead," She reasoned, eyes crinkling in delight, "Don't be shy."

They seemed to twinkle mysteriously like a leopard's, "After all, it _was_ made _especially_ for you."

Something about that statement didn't settle right.

Only after she had begun to take several small bites of her sausage did he finally work up the courage to pick up a fork.

The sausage suddenly wasn't as bad as he remembered. Perhaps he'd just never had it cooked the right way. Maybe it was just Artie again, after all, ruining things for him as usual.

He picked at his pile of vegetables, mulling over just what they could be.

 _Was that a carrot? Or some type of turnip? Hmm… Well it tasted good for that matter…_

A wave of silence stretched on.

 _Uhg… he needed to break the ice already, lighten the mood._ The room was already so stuffy and with the lack of activity, the cold from outside seemed to seep in.

It was time to whip out that good old Hollywood charm of his.

Quick! What was a good way to strike up friendly conversation? ...

 _The weather never hurt to mention, right?_

"So, uh…" Alfred fought the urge to curl up into a ball and hide, "Is the weather always like this?" He stuttered.

Seeming to sense its mention, the blizzard began to pick up to the point where – if he didn't know any better – he would have feared the windows cave in.

No matter how trivial of a question it was, it seemed that the unhinging atmosphere could turn almost anything sour.

She quickly looked up – a little _too_ eagerly – but he soon realized by the hard expression she wore that it was from anything but enthusiasm.

After a moment of calculation, she spoke.

"Yes. As of late," Then her lashes drooped and she ever so slightly bowed her head to the table, "I used to like it… but _now_ …" Suddenly her voice deepened and the death grip on her fork made him pause mid-bite, "It only reminds me of _him_."

He needed no further explanation.

All one would need to see is the grimace wrinkling her nose and the bending of the all too expensive eating utensil to know which country had rendered her wretched.

Only with Natalya could a topic as neutral as the weather spike such intense implications. He'd need to back out of this one fast, find a new topic of conversation, one preferably Ivan-free –

"This is quite delicious," He quickly complemented, "Did Estonia make it?"

She seemed to uncoil from her tightened posture, holding his gaze before nodding.

"Well, give him my gratitude." A warm smile spread over his lips.

 _Suddenly he saw the key. It had been so simple all along._

"You see," He began, picking at his meal, "I've never had much of a taste for blood sausage," He looked up to catch her questioning glance.

"Then again, the only ones I've ever tried were prepared by Britain, so I guess that's saying something," He suddenly realized the goofy grin on his face, and he guessed Belarus did too, because her lips were slowly turning to something shy of amusement.

 _Oh, he could get her to crack._

"A couple-a years back, I ended up staying over in London for a while on an extended trade negotiation. While I was there, Artie of course, _insisted_ that I stay to dine with the royal family. To make a good impression– you know, for Mister and Mrs. Your Highness… and all fifty of their pet corgis. Well, things were going pretty smoothly, you could say, until the waiters finally brought out dinner. It was descent – by no means better than this here –"

Alfred briefly motioned with his fork down to the plate in front of him, "but I could stomach it – I got a gut of steel!" He paused to give his abdomen a light pat for emphasis.

" _Then,_ I got to the sausages. Let me tell you, I was totally not expecting black pudding… at least not as bad as it was. Now, I don't know what it is that they do to those things over there, but let's just say they were less than appetizing. I was busy cringing before I noticed the pair of beady eyes staring up at me from under the tablecloth. So, naturally I got to thinkin'… say, Fido looks like he could use these _a lot_ more than I could… So, I tried to sneak the fella an innocent little bite…"

He shot the girl a mischievous glance, noting how her head had perked up in interest.

"Next thing I know, five Corgis – that's right, _five_ , _not one_ – are on the dining room table, scarfing down my plate! And the whole royal family – plus Arthur – are just sitting there, wide-eyed, gawking! And, ya know what I said to them?"

Alfred's lip twitched with barely contained laughter.

"I just looked them straight in the face and said, 'I think Fido needs some more _bloody_ pudding, don't you?'"

With that the boy erupted into laughter, slapping his knee as he remembered the surreal scene.

" _Ha, ha!_ You should have seen their faces!" He wailed, briefly pausing to imitate their shock with a gaping mouth before breaking off into another fit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Natalya with a hand over her mouth, attempting to muffle a sound that surprisingly bordered on giggles.

America finally willed himself to calm down, letting out a puff of air as he wiped at the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah well, Mrs. Elizabeth didn't seem to think it was so funny. Arthur turned beet red! You should have seen him! He totally freaked! Dragged me outta there… _by the ear_ … " He mumbled with a hint of embarrassment. "He made me apologize, but, of course, I've never been good at sympathizing with royalty. So, I probably won't be visiting Buckingham palace again anytime soon…"

Impossibly, at the vivid imagery, the Belarusian let out a snort. Unable to hide her amusement any longer, she released a muffled cackle. The sound had almost a rusty consistency to it, like that of underused machinery.

It occurred to him that this was the first time he had heard her laugh since witnessing her morbid amusement at their last – and not to mention, only – movie night.

And before that, there's no telling how long it'd been since her last real laugh.

Although it was anything but innocent, he figured it was as close to normal as she'd get.

She actually seemed rather happy. Or maybe she simply had a knack for delighting in Arthur's misery, which was a pastime he could completely understand.

After recomposing herself, the girl looked up at him with a small smile, "I am glad that this meal is to your liking. I will most certainly pass you're comments along to Mr. Estonia."

For a moment they shared a look of content before returning to said meal.

 _Well, wasn't she in a good mood. With her smiling, he found it so much easier to follow suit._

That was until Natalya peeked up at him from chewing to introduce a new topic that he had nearly forgotten about.

"How did you like the Draniki I left you, _majo kachannie?"_

 _Woah now. Back it up. He didn't understand half of the words in that sentence._

He looked up, mouth full and cowlick bent oddly out of shape, "Heh?"

The female released a giggle before leaning forward, "The Draniki, silly. They are cakes."

 _America could only register the richness of iron as the hardy meat turned putrid on his tongue._

"-You mean those squished tater-tot things?" He blurted – before his words could be censored. Leave it to him to say something stupid during a moment of panic. It was just his awkward teenage way of repressing inner conflicts. A defense mechanism of sorts: Turn everything into a big joke.

How much it had actually worked, though, was questionable.

She raised a perplexed brow. "Tots?"

"U-uh, n-nothing," Alfred quickly reassured, giving his head a brisk shake.

 _Idiot. Be careful what you say. Some time she's gonna understand one of these comments and it's gonna be the end of you…_

"They were, uh," He audibly cleared his throat, "tasty." He cracked a weak smile.

He couldn't let her know how much heartache those dumb patties had caused him. He honestly couldn't even remember what they'd tasted like. After he'd seen the news, everything had been… _blurred._

- _Nope. Stop right there, Alfred. He didn't need to venture into that realm of depression again. Not here, not now. Not right in front of_ _ **her**_ _._

Belarus gave him a careful stare, lips parted ever so slightly in contemplation.

She hastily nodded before lowering her gaze back to her pile of rice.

 _There was that unexplainable shift again…_

 _Poor thing. He really needed to get her out more and expose her to the wonders of corporate American culture… She was probably embarrassed at her lack of competence in the matter._

He'd heard rumors in the past about Belarus being one of the more isolated and underdeveloped of the European nations. He'd received word over the years since her parting with Russia that she'd been facing some major economic and political identity crises.

It was in situations like these that America realized just how out of touch with reality he'd become in his quest to become self-sufficient. He constantly found himself under the naïve belief that everyone in the world lived like him. Had the same resources to expend, technologies to rely on, food to eat. _Air conditioning._

It always came as a shock to hear otherwise, although at this point he should've known better.

Sensing her insecurity on the matter, Alfred opted to instead try and embrace something that _she_ held more familiarity with. Whatever it is that was…

"You've seen what I do for fun. You have any hobbies?" He questioned, genuinely curious.

She tilted her head for a moment in thought.

"Yes," The other nation nodded, "I frequently perform ballet." Her pale complexion sparkled in the low light and he could almost envision the girl twirling gracefully in a tutu, poised like a ballerina on the stand of a jewelry box.

He couldn't quite help the fluttering of his heart at the image.

"I also have experience in gymnastics,"

Eastern European's did know how to dominate the ranks of the Olympics once their gymnasts took to the stage. It was as if their bones were made of rubber. If her people were that flexible, he wondered just how agile Belarus must be. She had certainly proved herself worthy in the few instances of physical exertion he'd witnessed.

What dainty pastimes for such a brutal woman.

He should have figured.

"I know a bit of dance myself," The boy found himself responding, "I don't mean to boast, but I can pull off one mean square dance." He winked.

Recognition flashed across her face and her lips began to curl in mirth. "Hmm, I'll be impressed when you can do a _real_ dance."

"Ha, it's real alright. But if it better suits you, I was also taught how to waltz." He tilted his head back to look down his nose at her, nonchalantly crossing his arms over his chest, "I might be a bit rusty, though. It's been a while."

His smugness only seemed to fuel her own, and she reflected it back at him like a mirror, "I may have to reinstruct you then, dy?"

He released a chortle, "Hmm, it sure does seem that way, doesn't it. How about we finish dinner first, huh?"

He had no idea why he was suddenly becoming so comfortable – or why their banter was suddenly becoming so natural to him. Here he was, in a foreign country, out in the middle of nowhere, trapped in a log cabin with a madwoman prone to skewering her guests.

He would have been better off skydiving! Jumping out of a plane moving ten thousand feet above the Earth was minimal compared to this!

… _Maybe that was it._

The thrill.

Of being here, under such unpredictable circumstances. It was exciting. Exhilarating.

That feeling of blood rushing through your veins and adrenaline sharpening your reflexes.

Maybe that's why he'd come even though he knew full well the risks. Why he hadn't paid his voice of reason any heed.

How could he possibly go from fearing for his life one moment, to actually yearning for its threatening the next?

All he knew, was that while it lasted, he was going to enjoy every bit of it.

 _This._

This queer little situation unfolding around him.

He was going to take something meant to break him and turn it around for his own benefit.

Beat her at her own game, so to speak.

On some unconscious level, his more sensible side remained wary from beneath the refuge of his newly acquired façade. This side of him – this proud face he sported in times of doubt – had often been prominent during his pioneer days, where discovery lurked around every corner, ambition its pathway. When sometimes it was necessary for ration to take a backseat and let spontaneity take the wheel.

Torture _him_? Ha! He'd like to see her try.

In reality, this was nothing in comparison to huddling around a fire at Valley Forge, trying to thaw his frost bitten toes as typhoid finally wore down the last of his immunities – where so many of his men were falling ill, that he could no longer resist human infections. Or spending months in a muddied trench, trying to keep his helmet below the line of fire as shrapnel pierced the dirt around him at speeds so fast, it would leave his ears ringing.

No, this couldn't compare.

 _Marriage! Is that what he'd been so scared of? Yeah, cause' a night full of receiving expensive gifts, eating cakes, and indulging in fancy wines sounded like an absolutory horrendous affair!_

He almost wanted to laugh.

Their conversations had grown increasingly more voluntary as Belarus must have sensed his initial tensions lose their grasp. They were both suddenly speaking freely to each other; like a pair of old friends.

It was as if he'd known her forever.

The longer their conversation continued – transferring from hobbies, to national customs, to their favorite movies – Belarus seemed to grow surprisingly saner and saner. Shockingly more human; actually bordering on the line of friendliness.

Hmm, maybe his previous lessons of amiability had finally paid off after all? Or she'd simply had it in her all along, preserved somewhere deep inside of that frozen heart of hers, and only now did it have the will to come out.

An hour flew by like nothing. They had finally finished their meals and Estonia had returned to clear the dirty dishes.

Once Alfred had spared the man a gracious thank you and they'd been left to their own devices once more, Natalya rose.

America eyed her as she strolled across the room, passing an object of interest. The object in question was finally revealed to him in full light. A Grand Piano. Sitting among the bookshelves, out of place within the home's dreary aura. Despite its unlikely location, the antique was quite beautiful, with designs carved along its wooden trim.

The ghostly ring of its keys still haunted him from somewhere deep in the back of his head.

It wasn't the girls intended destination, though, as she instead stopped to remove a flask from a well-stocked shelf, turning back to give the man a wicked look.

Something about this picture – something about her face, the spark in her eyes – brought forth long held memories of his days as a sheriff out West. Alone at a saloon somewhere after dark, tired from a day of battling outlaws and train robbers – with only the barmaid out late enough to keep him company.

Al leaned back in his seat, boots crossed over the edge of the table.

Along with the stiffness had gone formalities.

No one was keeping up appearances any longer.

She dropped the flask on the table between them with a thud, holding it in place.

"This is our strongest brew," She announced a little too proudly.

Alfred didn't remove his feet from the table.

She twirled the bottle absently, purple irises boring into icy blue, as nonplussed as ever.

"I want to go against someone I can finally win against." She hissed, grin absolutely heartless.

America stroked his chin, gauging his options carefully.

 _Challenge him? Oh, she didn't know what she was up against. Indirectly comparing him to the likes of Russia? Well that was one way to do it._

He could hold his liquor better than anyone he knew. Even with nations considered, he ranked amongst the highest. Plus, scientifically speaking, he'd have the advantage – being male and having more body weight on his side. She was bound to succumb to the alcohol's effects at some point. He was simply more physically tolerant. Piece-o-cake.

"Yur on, darlin'," He plopped his chair back to ground level, thumping his feet against the hollow floor.

That monstrous smile of hers was starting to grow on him.

She crossed to her seat before popping the top with a single rugged bite, taking a deep swig.

She clunked in her seat, lowering the substance to the table as she licked her lips.

Before he knew it, the container was slid into his palms.

Without a second thought, he knocked back a chug of his own. He almost wasn't prepared for the burning in his gullet as the fiery rush of Vodka made its way down.

He held back a cough, passing it on once more.

She took it like it was nothing, returning a grin.

Stubbornly, he snatched it back to take in an even larger gulp.

He released a hack, covering his mouth with a free hand.

 _Jeez! That was some strong stuff! And Belarus didn't even seem to feel it, let alone seem anywhere close to cracking!_

Natalya snickered, "Is it too much for you?"

"Nah. It's just fine." Alfred lied, wiping his mouth with a wry smirk.

 _Oh, there was no way he was losing to a girl. That would cost him some real man points._

And as so often as before, America's unbreakable determination led him straight into the midst of a fix.

He stopped counting rounds after the third flask.

It was rare, but even Alfred – as resolved as he was – wasn't immune to the effects of intoxication.

Soon, his thoughts weren't coherent. All memory of the apparent contest had vanished. All he knew was that he had to keep going, although he couldn't quite fathom why.

Once the shape of the female's silhouette began to blur, even this ounce of logic had fled him.

Thoughts swarmed around in his skull like a swarm of moths.

"H-hey!" He roared, cheeks rosy, stumbling out of his extravagant velvet seat. He stuck a finger out at the girl – who if he would have been sober enough to see, was in exceptionally better shape than him.

"We were 'spose to go dancin'!"

Belarus slid out of her seat with tremendously greater grace, more or less reserved, "How could I forget, maja darahaja." She purred.

With that, Alfred bounded over to her side and dragged her away from the table, leading her into the center of the room. Planting his hands upon her scrawny waste, he began to twirl aimlessly before she even had the chance to adjust her grip.

Swaying this way, swaying that.

That's all dancing really was, wasn't it?

At some point during his mess of uncoordinated lurches, staggering to keep his feet in one place, Belarus' sure steps began to override his own – eventually enabling her to guide him through his disheveled state.

America – head in a cloud – only followed merrily, occasionally mumbling or humming a tune to himself.

He'd almost believed that the abrupt measures of music flooding his ears were coming from his own tongue – in brief bewilderment of how his mouth could orchestrate such inhuman noises – but in the corner of his vision, as he was twirled blindly, he caught sight of Eduard poised in the stool before the Grand Piano.

A tune as light and jumpy as his childhood filled his senses.

His subconscious flourished in the familiar notes and sure enough, the art of the dance came back to him like it was just yesterday he was standing on the tips of Britain's shoes as they spun around a decadent ballroom.

Alfred found himself gazing at the ceiling in awe, laughing harder and harder as he fell into the rhythm of the step.

Dancing had always commemorated such happy times. All kinds of dancing with all kinds of people.

It signified a time of glee, celebration, peace. A great love among countrymen.

Somewhere in their haze, a set of baby blues singled out the petals of a white bud across the room.

He swept toward the table to pluck the blossom away from its red companion, ignoring the threat of thorns as it was lodged between his teeth.

There came a soft ring of voice, "Ah, so you do know how to dance after all?"

He snapped his head down in a daze, eyes coming within inches of another's.

He brought the female into a haphazard dip, leaning over her.

He reached up to tip his hat – which he hardly noticed didn't exist – before flashing a grin he reserved for the damsels out west.

"Would I lie to you, sweetheart?" Quip muffled by the stem lodged in his teeth.

 _Yes._

 _He would._

 _He_ _ **did**_ _._

 _He'd lied about a lot._

 _He'd lied about their 'date'._

 _He'd lied to her about their marriage._

 _He lied to_ _ **himself**_ _._

Suddenly his perfect vision came crashing down.

His hold stiffened.

The breath suddenly left him as reality began to sink in like a foot trudging the snow.

The blossom fell from his lips – as if in slow motion – momentarily resting in Natalya's blonde locks before petals of pure white dirtied against the floorboards.

He began to choke on saliva as his watering eyes widened.

" _I- I,_ " He gasped, a whimper escaping the back of his throat, " _I'm sorry,_ "

 _ **He**_ _abandoned_ _her._

 _ **He**_ _left her on her knees._

 _ **He'd**_ _left him on his knees._

 _Everyone who'd meant something._

 _Different people, in different times, under different circumstances._

 _It need not matter._

 _There was the same loneliness._

 _The same tears._

 _The same betrayal._

 _There were no more ballroom dances, filled with innocent faces, happiness and singing._

 _There was the inevitable reality of wars and violence and hatred._

 _Gain and loss._

 _Light and darkness._

 _And here he was feeding the latter._

He began to croak, just barely getting the slurred words out, " _I-I'm so sorry,"_ He sniffled.

" _About the Mc Donald's, a-and, the- the ketchup, and-.._. _for **everything**_ _. Everything I've done,_ "

 _His floors sparkled with Pine-sol, his bed was carefully made, his dishes scrubbed and tucked away._

 _A loving meal laid patiently on a counter top. To be eaten, yes. But not enjoyed._

He held back a sob.

" _Thank you. For everything, N-Natalya… You've been so good…Please, can you ever forgive me?_ "

He cracked open his eyes to peer down into the pair just below him, magnificent lavender pools, searching him for something shy of sincerity.

Suddenly one of the arms uncurled from around his neck and trailed down to his front.

Alfred goggled at the woman, barely sensing the fingers as they eagerly searched his pockets.

" _I believe you have something that belongs to me._ "

At that moment, the remnants of his delusion came tumbling down, as his eyes tried desperately in vein to recognize the familiar blade – missing from its hiding place – shining before the tip of his nose.

" _You have not earned forgiveness._ "

He hit the floor with a crash.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Guess who's back?!**

 **Happy Memorial Day Weekend, everybody!**

 **School has finally relented on me long enough to bring you this next instalment!**

 **My AP Exams are finally complete and although there are still finals to worry about, the school year is finally winding down! (Although with the classes I'm taking next year, Summer Vacation doesn't seem very promising in terms of being a 'vacation'. *n*)**

 **I really do apologize though for the ridiculously long wait, guys. ':(**

 **Sometimes it takes me so long to find the time to write whilst still in a bout of inspiration (It seems I'm always inspired in the most inconvenient of times, like when there's math homework due the next day), let alone find the hours to complete the lengthy editing process that comes after. '=l**

 **Not that I'm complaining, though! I love to write : ) … and I'm really determined to make this the best darn AmeBel fanfiction you've ever read. XD (We'll see how well that goes…)**

 **This chapter was very interesting to put together. So many integrated ideas and concepts accumulated over the course of months, somehow fit together into a single scene. Really, I just realized I didn't have to put in any breaks.**

 **Alfred is a very confuzzled little boy, huh? He just keeps on making one wrong move after the other! DX (Or are they actually the right moves, eh? *wink-wink nudge-nudge* XD lol)**

 **As for his rapid attitude changes, let's just say that Al's little rebellious streak likes to resurface at varying times, along with his consistency to make the best of stressful situations. Sometimes it can make for a very odd mix of characteristics. He's also beginning to realize some things that will be explained later on, if you know what I mean. ;)**

 **All thanks to those peeps who've been here since the start and to the newbies joining in along the way! :D**

 **I can hardly believe this thing has over 110 followers and nearly 90 favorites! :D I wasn't expecting such a turn out! I personally would like to thank everyone who has allowed this to be possible despite my inconsistency! ^-^ THANK YOU!**

 **I've read all of your comments and I must say that the ending of this thing (don't worry, it's not coming just yet, several more chappies to go) may pleasantly surprise some of you. A word of advice, my friends, it's best not to make assumptions with this story. ;) You never really know what I have going on behind the scenes…**

 **With that said, I know a lot of you are still wondering about poor little Iggy, but not to worry, his fate will be addressed in the next chapter. (After all, we all care very deeply about our dear Arthur, don't we? ^-^)**

 **I did a lot of research on Queen Elizabeth II (the current one), and let me just say, she's serious about her corgis. XD (Wasn't making up the numbers, people! At some point there were at least 5 of them!) Of course, the situation that unfolded in this story was completely fictional, so the true conduct of her pets is up for speculation. I imagine they are actually quite well-behaved, being royal and all…** _ **probably**_ **.**

 **Also, if someone were to look at the search history on my computer, they'd think I'm engaged to a Belarusian or something because of all of the wedding and cultural research I've done. ,o.o, lol**

 **Chapter 8 Translations-** **(As far as I know… sorry, unfortunately I'm not bilingual.)**

 _ **Dy**_ **\- Yes (Belarusian)**

 _ **Amieryka**_ **\- America (Belarusian)**

 _ **Dzieci**_ **\- Children (Belarusian)**

 _ **Majo Kachannie**_ **\- My Love (Belarusian)**

 _ **Maja Darahaja**_ **\- My Dear/Darling (Belarusian)**

 **This is where stuff really starts to pick up, kids! : D**

 **I hope you found enjoyment in this and are looking forward to what's ahead! I know I am!**

 **I'll be seeing you then!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


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